This trilogy began with The Gathering Quest for the Steel, book 1. A story about two young boys thrust into an adventure full of action-packed fighting and thrilling drama. In the sequel, the story continues with the discovery of the mystical Haugernaut. During the Haugernaut Wars the conquest ensues. Uncover what fate awaited the two boys. Discover new characters as Stelvose’s rescue has taken a turn for the
worse. Will the righteous prevail over evil, or will chaos be the ruling force. Indulge in a non-stop story with adventure around every corner, magic within the mist,
love surrounding innocent hearts, emerging gallantry, and diabolical treachery at every corner. Take part in parallel adventures that are on a collision course. Adventure
continues! I hope you enjoy the sequel!”
In the dark days of evil that roams the land, a heart of young elf priest had become the source of desire for the miscreant priest, Edmer Scarthorne. Edmer had promised his mountain-dwelling allies a gift from Houknor. Edmer’s secretive partners anticipated a powerful mage to be recruited into their ranks, not a fumbling elf priest. On the frigid mountaintop, at the peak of Mount Argol, a gathering awaited to meet the revered powerful mage. Edmer spoke in admiration of this powerful magic wielder, whom he claimed to be the key to victory. But it was his allies who had yet to meet this magical savant, Vilmare Forethesis.
Flapping cloaks snapped while the stinging snow bruised their delicate skin. Their rock-hard cheeks and watery eyes sought shelter. The young elf priest, Vilmare, swayed upon a jagged rock, watching the elder priest shuffle some brittle branches from a collage of frozen bushes. Moaning weather and driving snow were trying to stop the young elf priest from going further, but the frightened elf boy remained under the spell of the talisman. Edmer’s gray hair flailed in the wind as he reached down, beckoning the young elf priest to come, for they had discovered a cave to take refuge from the weather. Or was it the path to the promised gathering with Edmer’s secretive ally? The young elf priest knew not.
An odd buzzing sound was coming from behind a door as the two priests approached with no regard for caution. A loud grating sound of shifting metal caused the young elf priest to hesitate. “Worry not, son. I will introduce you to a vision of the future,” Edmer said while giving Vilmare a slight nudge toward the door. The bitterly cold wind that swept through the cave caused the thin elf priest to shiver uncontrollably. He knew the foreboding cave was well hidden within the snow-laden peaks of Mount Argol, and he felt the loneliness of the hidden hole within the mountain.
Vilmare noticed the curvature of a vein of blue rock protruding from the rock walls as his teeth chattered in the cold. However, the closer Vilmare approached the large black door, the warmer he began to feel. He felt surprising relief that this large door provided protection from the cold for whatever lay on the other side. As Edmer raised his hands in the air, Vilmare noticed silver wards forming on the door, which began to glow. Then, as the magical wards started to stream into their full shape, a distinct metallic click was heard. A deflecting echo bounced down the cave, dying at the winter end of the cave opening. This massive door, thicker than the fragile elf priest, creaked open. Vilmare peered out from under his cloak. His excited eyes and gaping mouth stared down a long hall. Intricate ornate tiled floor and dark accented pillars ran the massive corridor, with the only lights casting from mounted torches on the pillars. The jagged walls were a darkened mix of stone and ore that lacked the smoothness of an ordinary structure. This massive hall could hide a small army as it stretched over a hundred yards from end to end with two stone-cut archways at the end of the hall. To the young elf, who was tasked with caring for the finely crafted temple on the Island of Etherine, this hall was eerie and nothing more.
On each side of the large hall were partitioned pits with smooth dirt floors. Bulky stone pedestals were placed in the middle of the pits. Vilmare pondered the purpose of the pedestals. He then noticed several imposing elves working at the end of the corridor, milling around the last four pits. He thought, Oh my, these are not Bahmeri. They cannot be . . . These elves’ had skin as dark as a moonless night. His guarded breaths were released into the air as he became startled. Edmer and he continued to amble down the hallway while the dark elves continued their duties without paying any mind to the visiting Edmer and the now-frightened elf priest.
Standing next to a stone table at the end of the hall was an intimidating dark elf reading a rugged black leather book, with his fingers tracing every word and symbol. As Vilmare stepped onto the first tile past the breach, he continued his survey of this massive hall. With every step taken in this mountain hall, an echoing chime would resonate into the belly of the rock. The elf priest glanced left and then right, studying the pits, which were more significant than his room on the island. To Vilmare, it was reminiscent of a horse stable, but this stable was not designed for livestock.
The elf priest continued walking with Edmer down the hall, when he came upon a solitary ray of light in the middle of the hall. The young priest stood in the middle of the beam of light, staring up toward the distant hole. He glanced up at a rock formation near the ceiling that resembled a steeple. Just above the steeple was a small opening in the mountain that allowed sunlight to penetrate the tomblike darkness of the hall. A ray of light that searched through the winter clouds and this mammoth mountain, it had to be a divine intervention, he supposed. Vilmare felt the warm light surround him, giving him an embrace of love and compassion, then he was interrupted.
Edmer greeted with confidence, “Mezzercho [Mezz-erko], meet our new friend. He will be assisting you with the Haugernauts.” All the workers temporarily stopped to take the measure of the small elf priest standing next to Edmer. These dark elves wore a variation of black robes that left their muscly broadness exposed. They wore no tunics or blouses under their robes. Vilmare noted that one of the workers had straight white hair that came down to his shoulders, and all were tall with well-defined, toned muscles. Vilmare’s confidence was fleeing with every connected stare he took at the dark elves, for their eyes were blood-red, soulless eyes that lacked mercy if called upon. He hadn’t been this frightened since the first day on the boat with the sailors. He thought, Oh, what I would give to be back on the Maribel.
The elf priest’s eyes measured each worker, with his final meek stare ending with Mezzercho. The dark-elf sorcerer returned a stern stare that lacked tolerance. Mezzercho, unlike the workers, had no hair, with a razor-sharp scar that went across his forehead, a scar worthy of a tavern tale or two. He wore a black tunic and black leather pants. His boots rose to the bottom of his knees, and he grasped an iron staff in his right hand. An intricate swirl design was carved into the magical staff, which was topped off with a polished jade orb. Vilmare stared back at the undemonstrative Mezzercho, who had that strong square jaw that displayed a pair of inch-long fangs. Vilmare then thought to himself, He is definitely not from Bahmeri Kai.
“Oh, I know . . . This must be the first time you have laid eyes on the dark elf, yes, elf priest?” Edmer said with a wry smile. Vilmare was scared into silence while he thought about all the tales he heard as a child. He then found the courage to speak for the first time since entering the hidden cave. “Dark elf? I didn’t think they were real. I was told they didn’t exist. They were used to frighten children from being mischievous, a created lore to counter Etherine’s love, compassion, and righteous—”
Edmer’s smirking face interrupted Vilmare’s attempted sermon. The old priest’s croaky voice laced with bitterness said, “You see, my young elf, Etherine has been lying to you. It has been the insulting high priest on your island who fills your precious mind with lies. Etherine cares not for your soul. Your foul god seeks your blindness, while I will give you clarity. You see, young elf, you and Mezzercho are brothers who never met.”
A stoic stance by Mezzercho needed no words. Mezzercho’s neck muscles were bulky, and his hands were thick with stout fingers like those of the young woodsman that Vilmare so dearly wished was here in the cave, at this time, to offer courage. Vilmare was in deep thought as he gazed at the thick fingers, which brought back memories of Rondo popping up in his head. His thoughts drifted away upon hearing the slow deep chords of Mezzercho: “Welcome, elf priest.” The deep slow tone of Mezzercho had thickness in it. Every word that was expelled from his mouth had to negotiate the pearly fangs and thick black tongue. Mezzercho’s eyes jerked left and right as he peered through Vilmare. The elf priest felt the chills rush along his spine. It was Mezzercho’s intimidating red pupils that were set in elongated slanted eyes, as if fiery hate had a furnace within his soul.
Mezzercho escorted the two priests through the expansive hall to one of the pits that had a silver Haugernaut in the shape of an orb. The rounded silver orb was firmly placed on the stone pedestal, with not a sign of life emitting from it. Mezzercho pointed out the remaining three Haugernauts that were almost ready to be enchanted with charge. The intimidating sorcerer went on to explain his task of penetrating the protective magic that surrounded the Haugernaut. Mezzercho explained the ancient use of magical wards and symbols from the dark magic scrolls and tomes. Vilmare could see doubt in the face of Mezzercho as he explained, but cared not to interrupt the stout sorcerer. Mezzercho’s ridged face was perplexed when he attempted to explain how to pierce the Haugernaut’s protective enchantment. Finally, his brows raised in an inquiring call for knowledge, as his confessional explanations of the use of magical wards had not convinced the elder priest. Not a word was uttered by the elder priest as he stood with a stare that lacked emotions. Edmer tightened his lips in disappointment, for he knew that the war to come would only be won in the shadows of the metal beasts.
Mezzercho gripped his staff, slamming an echoing ping to the stone floor. He spread his black boots apart, preparing a demonstration of his ability to wield magic. He lifted his staff with the pointed end pressed against the silver Haugernaut. He started a mantra, chanting elvish words that Vilmare was not familiar with, but could determine by the thickness in the verbiage that it was definitely elvish. A bright pinpointed light formed at the end of Mezzercho’s staff as he etched a symbol. He continued the magical chant, raising his voice with the gaining of power and energy. Vilmare shielded his eyes with his delicate hand because of the shimmering light coming from the sparking metal orb. Forming symbols started to glow on the silver orb with a brightness that lit up the faces of the onlookers. Mezzercho leaned with all his strength to keep the quaking staff in place. He started breathing heavily as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably. Plunk! Ping! Pung! The iron staff shot out from his grip, ricocheting on the stone floor. A couple of dark-elf workers stepped to the side to avoid the bouncing staff. Mezzercho fell to one knee as his neck veins began to pulsate feverishly. The image on his face was written in painful failure.
Edmer with a concerned look, then added, “This is where you come in, my good elf. You will provide healing and protection for Mezzercho so he can finish his work. I will teach you spells and power you have yet to wield.” Vilmare quickly pulled out his leather book of prayers and spells, which caused Mezzercho to lift his hands in defense, adding a growling hiss. An aura of righteousness and purity was expelled from Vilmare’s divine spell book. Edmer quickly grabbed the Etherine text from the naive elf priest’s hand, “I will take care of that for you, my dear elf. You won’t need such folly.” Edmer placed the book in his pocket then said, “Mezzercho, show our new friend his quarters and introduce him to the queen. I have matters to deal with.”
Mezzercho then told Edmer, “I have requested more Haugernauts from that greedy gnome. I told him I did not want any of the gold beasts.”
“Let me deal with Palbo. You focus on getting these ready,” Edmer replied with a sullen voice while pointing at the two chrome and two silver Haugernauts. “Tell the queen that appointed time for a new Stelvose to arise is upon us. The reign of the dark elves is coming, praise to Houknor.” Edmer raised his voice in praise as he marched back toward the exit. The nervous elf priest stood frozen, not knowing what to think of his newly acquired friends. His mind raced with the idea to run back to the island. He was urging himself under his breath to just sprint for the exit; he would find a new appreciation for the mundane choirs at his convent he so complained about. But the elf child lacked courage, and the talisman around his neck felt that lack of resolve.
The back archway at the end of the stone wall filled the entrance with an ambient red color as the two walked to the left arch. Vilmare followed the dark elf to some long descending stairs that had been carved out from the inside of the mountain wall. The entrance opened up to a vast open cavern within the mountain. Vilmare’s eyes widened as he beheld the bustling community of dark elves taking on the daily grind at the bottom of the cavern. Vilmare took a deep breath at the top of the long descending stairs, taking in the dank murky smell of the cavern.
Mezzercho said nothing as he and Vilmare walked down the stairs leading to a small village. On the other side of the cavern was the second set of stairs that emulated the stairs they were descending. Vilmare made an effort to stay close to the wall, as a fall from the top of the stairs would mean instant death. Several thatching huts, rounded in design, were spread out across this hidden plateau hidden deep into the mountain.
In the center of the village was a giant skull of a dragon with its mouth propped open. The skull shimmered ominously, as the torches set in the eye sockets were suddenly replenished by torchbearers. The head was almost as large as a cargo ship, with a gaping mouth large enough for a pack of men to walk into. The large serpent skull had an enclosure, giving an impression of living quarters. Every step the elf priest took, he would see a whole new world that five minutes ago, he did not know existed.
Startling halt to the steps was made by the elf priest when he heard the sound of growling. Echoing growls mixed with slurping sounds bounced off the walls in reverberations, especially the closer Vilmare had descended toward the village. The stairs were widening as he arrived at the bottom. His nostrils suddenly consumed the animal smell from a dark corner of the cavern. He then realized that the terrible growling was coming from beasts corralled in a wooden pen. It was a wood enclosure hidden in the corner of the village, deep in the dark protection of the mountain. Massive wolf beasts spun in circles with excitement. He watched the arching hairy backs shake ferociously. He stared with a terrified look on his face, as the beasts were large as a plow horse. One of the wargs lunged against the wooden pen as it propped its front paws on the second tier of the fencing. The beast stared at Vilmare with drool spewing out of its mouth, exposing the large fangs as it growled even more ferociously. The bristly brown hair stood up on the hunched back when Mezzercho and Vilmare reached the last step.
Vilmare had grown increasingly apprehensive as he made his way past the wargs. The curious eyes of the village moved to the bottom of the stairs as daily activity ceased, to view the “powerful ally.” His shifting eyes lacked confidence, for Vilmare did not feel the welcoming that he had imagined when he started his journey down the stairs. Some of the dark elves had black leather armor with rigid collars that almost touched the bottom of their ears. Vilmare thought these elves must be soldiers or militia of this dreaded village. Blood-red armbands they wore around their left arms bore a symbol that Vilmare had seen once before: a crescent moon entangled with a burning sun. Vilmare’s body ran cold as he recognized the symbol etched into the crescent moon. It was the symbol of Houknor, the same marking worn by the vampire Collin—the same evil, malicious god that was dispelled by the righteous Etherine.
Every step the elf priest took was closely followed by the eyes of the village. Even more unnerving was the pervasive silence as he and Mezzercho shouldered their way through the towering crowd. As they walked toward the entrance of the serpent skull, they were confronted by two guards wearing leather armor, standing in front of the ivory entrance. They had scimitars with black hilts and pommels, which also bore the symbol of Houknor. One of the guards lifted his hand to halt the eager Mezzercho and his timid elf priest. In the native language, he whispered to Mezzercho, “Is this the powerful ally Edmer was speaking of?” Mezzercho nodded to the guard while he continued to walk past the sentries. The guard shared doubting eyes with Vilmare as they continued further. It would seem that most expected a powerful mage would be more intimidating. Slow breaths of nervousness were exhaled by the elf priest as he stared at the gaping mouth of the dragon. He could hear his heartbeat in terror. Mezzercho quickly placed his hand on Vilmare’s chest, stopping him in front of the dragon’s mouth.
“Let me see this precious elf,” a sinister female voice announced. Mezzercho dropped to one knee as the rest of the village followed his example. A sentry placed his hand on the Vilmare’s shoulder and shoved him down to his knees. He felt the power of the dark-elf warrior pushing down on him. His face became hot from the uninvited pressure of fear. Vilmare kept his eyes focused on the ground where he directed his gaze at a small rock. He tried to ensure that he did not offend the dark elves any further. He stared desperately at the little stone, thinking to himself, Can it be that my only friend is a rock? How did I get myself into this? Summoning all his courage, he could hear only the sound of someone dragging a foot. Vilmare looked up and saw a tall, dark female elf with a staff in her hand. He recognized the staff she was carrying as being similar to that of Mezzercho, but the intimidating dark she-elf had hers encased with a red stone at the top.
Vilmare watched as the dark female elf drag her right foot, making her way down the steps in front of the dragon’s mouth. Her unblemished black skin was smooth, with a glassy shine. Her large breasts appeared to be trying to wrestle their way out of the long dress. The dress was made of thick leather with a seam running down the middle. The last stitching of the seam bore the burden of keeping the she-elf’s breasts under control. Her slender jaw complemented her thick red lips, granting the dark-elf queen a haunting beauty that would make the weak of heart crumble to their knees. She wore a black leather coif that covered her hair. As he caught a glimpse of the elf queen, Vilmare’s courage melted, and his eyes searched frantically for his only friend, the lonely stone. He then watched in terror as a sharp-toed leather boot entered his line of sight. A playful kick of the rock caused the elf priest to squeeze his eyes shut, while he frightenly pondered. With his only friend, the stone, abandoning him, he slowly opened his eyes anticipating the worst.
Terrified, Vilmare realized his eyes were now glued to the toe of the leather boot. He then felt the staff press against his left shoulder, nudging him to rise. Vilmare stood up and looked into the deep red eyes of dark she-elf. The shadows under her eyes extended out past her unblemished cheeks to her ears, giving a dominating devilish smile exposing her pure-white fangs. “I am your queen, young priest. You will address me as Queen Kayleema,” she commanded.
Vilmare stuttered while trying to arrange his words. He tried to refocus and organize his thoughts when he caught the warrior behind the queen looking at him with sharp eyes that pierced his soul. “Good evening, my Queen . . . Kayleema.” The elf priest greeted her with more confidence.
She burst into a foul laugh: “Muahahahaha.” Then the rest of the dark elves joined in on the laughter as the small-statured priest’s eyes darted around. His wide eyes spun around, giving a cursory glance toward the crowd, wondering why everyone was laughing. A slight grin appeared on his pointy face as he prayed under his breath for the mountain to swallow him whole.
Kayleema ordered Mezzercho to bring the elf priest into the dragon’s head. Vilmare was taking small steps, looking at the massive skull from the inside. The black stone walkway was accented by the sharp teeth that guided their escort into the unknown. The queen led them into the enclosed room of the dragon’s head. Vilmare noted the path inside the dragon skull became broader as they approached a room containing a large bed with a frame made of bone. The bones were intertwined and secured with thick leather straps. Amused, the elf priest measured the girth of the bone shards. He thought, What a large beast those bones belong to. A stone table sat next to the bed, storing several potion bottles and parchment scrolls. At the foot of the bed was a finely crafted wooden chest, which was decorated with many colorful gems. Then the elf priest stood stunned as he gazed at a large tapestry hanging on the dense ivory wall. His heart and attention froze on cue, for he was fixated on the tapestry while Mezzercho and the queen kept their minds on the large table with a map. Carved wood figurines were strategically placed on the leathered map, waiting to be shoved here and there. While the elf priest kept his gaze upon the tapestry, his mouth remained open, consuming the delicate history woven in the tapestry.
Queen Kayleema turned around, then asked with a soft tone that had a raspy tinge, “You know of the Descon dragon, young elf?”
Vilmare blinked, then replied to the queen with his meek voice, “This cannot be! I mean no disrespect, Queen Kayleema, but this tapestry shows the battle clerics of Etherine raiding the dark elves at the edge of Mount Argol. Why does it show the Descon dragon emerging from the mountain to defend the dark elves and their home?” A creeping silence held the room as the body heat emitted from the inhabitants suddenly made the room a little prickly. Vilmare proceeded to explain the story as told to him by the priests of Etherine. Like a thespian, he gestured with his hands while prancing around the room, explaining that the Descon dragon turned its rage upon the helpless villages in the kingdoms of Luna’era and Gallen Rose. With his chin rising in confidence, he continued to spin the heroic challenge from the battle clerics that defeated the dragon.
Queen Kayleema laughed with an arrogant chuckle and then said, “Elf boy, you are sitting in the head of the beast. We recovered its body at the bottom of the mountain, where we brought honor to the beast that Houknor dispatched as a protector of the dark elves. We owe the beast and Houknor our lives. We were being slaughtered by the men that control the lands below.”
Her beautiful face expanded with anger as she formed a stern image in the elf priest’s eyes. She proceeded to explain, with all the kindness she could rally to her heart, and it wasn’t much, “Dark elf women and children perished under the sharp edge of the human sword. We dug deep into the heart of Houknor, and created this, our home. We have lived here in eager anticipation of the day when we will strike back at the god of Etherine and exact our revenge for the senseless slaughter of our people. I prayed to Houknor for guidance and the power so that we may one day exact our revenge upon the humans and elves.” Queen Kayleema stepped closer to Vilmare with her dominating red eyes drilling his courage, then continued, “Houknor answered our prayers with the arrival of the most unlikely ally, a priest from Mount Argol monastery. One summer day, Priest Edmer wandered into our lair by mistake . . . maybe. But I believe he found us as the result of an answered prayer from Houknor. Upon his arrival, Priest Edmer wore the pendant of the Gallen Heart priest. But with the guidance of Houknor, it had become dark as the darkest heart of the dark elf.” Vilmare’s hand gravitated to the pendant he wore around his neck that was gifted from Edmer. Queen Kayleema continued, “Edmer will lead us to the promise of freedom so that we can live within the mountains of Argol without fear of death. He showed us magic that imparts life to the metal creatures. He showed us the power possessed by such creatures. You will join us, and in turn, you will be granted the power over the lands as an ally to the dark elves.”
Vilmare stood transfixed by all that had just been revealed. His face morphed into an appearance of secrets untold. It now dawned on the elf priest; Rondo indeed had the last sword of the Gallen Heart knights. His mind was now recalling the death of the young woodsman and where the sword rested. Vilmare meekly stuttered, “The p-p-pond of Isemilium!” He thought for a moment then lifted his chin to stare at the queen. His eyes welled up in tears as he whimpered, “The last sword is at the pond of Isemilium.”
The queen slowly hobbled to the young elf and caressed his chin with her hands. The warmth of her fingertips flowed through his face, up to the top of his head. She mumbled, “Ventoch, Kulmera, Ventosh, Zuchata.” He remained paralyzed in thought as her fingertips began to glow. Her long soft fingers swirled in small circles, as they etched symbols and marking onto the face of the elf priest. The forming circles and symbols magically continued toward his matted hair. Her mouth was open as her tongue swiped her top lip. Queen Kayleema’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as the stout Mezzercho watched the red eyes start bulging from her skull. She repeated the chant over and over until she dropped her hands in a near collapse.
Mezzercho caught her tilting body before she could fall. Vilmare’s eyelids shook. He slowly opened his eyes, revealing the sinister stare of unraveling anger. A shade of burning embers appeared in his once childlike eyes. His eyes of innocence were now burning with wickedness. The symbol of a moon on one side and the sun on the other were now scribed across his cheeks. The forming symbols turned dark gray as the connecting wards scribed a path to the young elf’s thoughts. A tear trickled down his cheek as he angrily proclaimed, “Everything told to me was a lie. I placed my heart and soul into the trickery of Etherine and his foul priests.” Vilmare’s eyebrows lowered as his jaw clenched in anger. The crafty sorceress queen had cast a potent mind-cleansing spell on the young elf. His memories of the past were becoming distant as the mind-manipulating spell would saturate his thoughts over time.
The dark heart pendant that enslaved the elf priest pulsated with a darkness that was more ominous than before. Edmer’s pendant claimed a new owner, in the shape of a young elf priest. Vilmare then closed his fist tightly and said, “I will make them all pay.” He looked at Mezzercho, who returned a nod that was followed by a slight smile.
Exhausted, the queen had taken a fondness to Vilmare; she could feel the anger radiating from his body. That was when she placed both of her hands on Vilmare’s cheeks and connected straight into his eyes, then tenderly whispered, “You will be my prince and conqueror.” Vilmare bowed and then followed Mezzercho out of the dragon’s mouth as the queen smiled from ear to ear, exposing her demonic fangs.
An amber tint in the village had a mysterious aura of an emanation that filled the infuriated thoughts of the troubled elf priest. His vision had become clouded with the taste of evil. It was back to the daily grind as the two elves emerged from the ivory skull of the dragon. The back end of the village had rock walls encircling the town, which laid a path to another walkway that descended further into the mountain. Mezzercho continued his escort of the elf priest down this darkened tunnel. This tunnel had no ambient light to guide any trespassers through the passage. Only a creature with the ability of night sight could walk down the descending path. Mezzercho noticed that Vilmare’s eyes had a slight red glow, but it was from the reflection of the light coming from the village when he took a quick glance over his shoulder.
An ear-piercing screech was coming from an opening up ahead: “Eeaaachhhh!” Then he heard another one, and then another. They emerged onto a parapet of rock overlooking an even more enormous cavern. Vilmare’s breath suddenly escaped his lungs as he saw five small dragon creatures at the bottom of the cavern. Vilmare had never seen a dragon in its flesh; only in paintings, scripture, and his mind had a dragon existed. The flattened rock formation at the bottom of the cavern resembled an arena. It was a black stone arena floor that had small caves dug into the side of the walls. But it was the littered bones on the cavern floor that alarmed the elf priest. The parapet stood high above the beasts, just enough to strike fear and yet give some comfort of being safe. Several hundred feet aloft were the spectators, as the elf priest watched the swaying beasts with excitement. To the right of the rampart was another parapet, which had a ritual table stained with blood. A long stone table had a connected spout that protruded past the parapet to bring a flow of innocent blood onto this humongous statue below.
Vilmare’s gaze followed the round stone spout to the giant black statue of an elf. The massive stone figure had a dark-red gem embedded in its chest. His eyes widened at the fifty-foot carving of a cloaked elf staring at the cavern floor. Then his gaze was met by the drakes, which amplified the screeches toward the visitors. These beasts stared at the two standing on the parapet, like a bird waiting for feeding in the nest. Their wings were too small for flying; neither had they developed the snout for the proper air intake. Vilmare asked Mezzercho while glancing at the beasts at the bottom of the cavern, “Are those dragons?”
Mezzercho smiled a bit at the naive knowledge the young elf had of the world. “Yes, we call them drakul. They are too young to fly. Houknor has sent us the offspring of the Descon dragon, and we will raise them to be our protectors.”
Vilmare then looked up at Mezzercho and asked, “The bones, who do they belong to?”
Mezzercho’s stare at Vilmare was evasive as he answered, “Unfortunate dwellers of the passages below.” The dark elf sorcerer extended his arms, motioning to the massive cavern, explaining to Vilmare that the mountain was riddled with tunnels to the outside world. Then Mezzercho said the most amazing thing to the young elf. “Behind the mountain, the passages lead to the ocean and beyond to the world we call Gunthrun.” Vilmare’s eyes widened in such surprise to hear of lands other than Stelvose. Like a son prying his father for answers, Vilmare quickly started to inquire, when Mezzercho said, “In time, elf friend. Let us take our leave back to the village. We have work to do, and visitors from Silverthorne-Nagor and Delvin’s Lost are coming to seek counsel.”
His eyes stayed open, staring at the ceiling of the hut. Vilmare had been rolling back and forth on his straw bed as his mind spun wildly. He sighed, letting out a deep breath, then lay on his back, revisiting his stare back at the ceiling. Finally, after several turns and tucks, he sat up and glanced over at the body of a dark elf sleeping across the room. Vilmare quickly threw his clothing on then covered himself with his black cloak. He paused for a moment, as the smell of Angel Trumpet flowers drifted into his nostrils. His soft cloak gave him a motherly embrace as he fastened the metal clasp. His dreaded thoughts started wavering while he thought about the woodsman and the adventures they had together. Vilmare’s eyes had become glassy with tears forming as his thought formed dreams about Rondo and how the woodsman confided in him about his father’s death. He thought about the trail he climbed when he met his first snowfall at the Dragon’s Light Mountain and the woodsman’s reaction toward him. It was a friendly smile and a shake of the head. Vilmare then touched his left hip, wondering where his dagger was. He then placed his head in his hands as tears dripped from the point of his nose onto the dirt floor, when he whispered to himself, “What have I become?” It was clear that Vilmare was having a war within himself, for the salvation of the former mischievous servant on the Island of Etherine was in the balance.
Vilmare took a big whiff of the Angel Trumpets, then opened the rickety door to the hut. Quietly, he poked his head out, looking around, making an effort to be undetected. He noticed some dark-elf warriors patrolling through the village and a couple more on the stairs heading to the top. He stepped out, looking up toward the stairs on the opposite side of the cavern. He thought this would be an opportunity to take his leave, for his heart wanted to seek like company. He wandered up the stone stairs, using as much stealth he could muster. Halfway up the stairs, he noticed some shadows moving toward him from the open archway. Vilmare quickly moved to an inset that was dug into the rock wall and proceeded to press his back against the inset, making himself a part of the stone wall.
The dark elf’s eyesight was far better in the dark than his, but he thought if he squirmed back far enough, they might not see him. He held his breath as he backpedaled farther into the cutout, keeping his attention on the stairs. Slupp—he felt his right foot slip off a ledge while backpedaling. The nimble elf flailed his arm in an attempt to keep his balance but fell face first on a smooth rock shaft. He tried to grip the side of the smooth tubular rock chute while he slid down, rolling back and forth. His elbows painfully struck the smooth, slippery surface. His speed was picking up, snaking down this long frightful journey. He looked down between his legs as he was going faster and faster with no way to stop himself. As his life flashed before his eyes, he slid out of the rock shaft onto a stone floor—thump.
Gasps and yelps were heard in the cavern, while he rolled for twenty feet to a painful stop. Vilmare noticed immediately several bones ranging in age, littered on the rocky ground. He came to a halt, staring up at the rock ceiling in the large cavern. His vision focused on the parapet high above him where he and Mezzercho had once stood. He jumped to his feet in sheer panic, knowing the drakul were in the cavern. His beating heart was so loud it funneled his vision and muffled his hearing. He tried to remain quiet while his head and eyes scanned left and right in the bone-riddled arena. He then peered at the giant statue of Houknor standing, stable and erect, staring down upon the feeding table of the drakul. The nervous elf priest then glanced over his shoulder at the rock shaft, creating a thought of escape. His thoughts of escape soon disappeared for he was interrupted by a vibrating hiss and a whoosh from a flapping wing.
His head moved slowly from an over-the-shoulder glance to the middle of the feeding stable. Vilmare started to recall what the woodsman had told him about facing off against a bear. Vilmare knew that the bear is a mere pet dog in comparison to the drakul, but his immediate memory used the bear. He lifted his hands in front of him as he tried to think of what to say or what spell to cast; that was when he noticed this twelve-foot-long drakul with large red eyes staring at him. Its eyes were shaped like that of a lizard, with pupils that were thin strips going north and south. Its tongue flickered out, slapping the floor as the creature took a leaning step forward. The creature then sidestepped to move in for the kill. The drakul hissed again, then opened its mouth to Vilmare, showing an aggressive posture and its dominance over the scared elf priest.
Vilmare sidestepped to his left while looking in all directions. His gaze avoided the razor eyes of the drakul in front of him. He was saying to himself, “Think, think, think,” looking for somewhere to flee. That thought came to a close as another drakul that was almost fifteen feet in length slapped its tail on the stone floor, showing its profile to the frightened elf priest. It was also posturing about its size to the frightened dinner-to-be. The drakul’s head turned toward the elf priest as it adjusted its massive body to strike upon the helpless priest. Vilmare then opened his hand and said to the two drooling beasts, “You are so magnificent and beautiful, my sweetest friends.” His comical attempt to speak with the creature obtained no response other than another hiss.
The smaller drakul took a lunge forward, coming within four feet of the elf while it chomped, making a clapping echo in the cavern. Vilmare’s vision became blurred as he jumped at the sound of the smacking mouth. His heart stampeded to nowhere as the drool slithered down the beast’s mouth. Vilmare shivered in horror, anticipating his demise and how painful it would be. The bite of the drakul would surely snap the elf’s body in half. Then the creatures spun around, slithering back into the caves from whence they came. A sigh of relief was short-lived as Vilmare felt some heat on his back, with a red beam of light passing his arms and shoulders. An ominous ray of light cast a blood-red color on the stone ground in front of him. He slowly turned around to find a beam of light coming from the precision-cut gem in the middle of the statue’s chest. He froze in agonizing fear as he felt pain surge through his frail body. He fell to his knees in severe pain as he heard a dark voice in his head saying, “Welcome, my prince! I am your lord and master.” Vilmare suddenly felt a surge of overwhelming pain that stripped him of his consciousness. He wobbled to the floor, at the mercy of the unknown.
Awakened, the elf priest was alarmed by a swooshing sound, causing him to dart up with his hands swing in the air. He heard another swooshing sound droning outside his newly acquired hut in the village. He didn’t remember how he got here or who placed him here, but that thought didn’t concern him anymore. He stepped outside cautiously, opening the door, which revealed the secret of the low-decibel droning sound. It came from a scholarly dark elf with white hair that was close-cropped and a matching goatee to boot. This dark elf sat with his legs crossed on a stone table in the middle of the village. He was a mysterious elf mage that was medium height with a rotund figure from the chest down. The dark-elf sorcerer waved his hands back and forth like a slithering snake; the fingers would control multiple-colored lights swirling in front of his chest. The sorcery had an audience of dark-elf youth that ranged from a child to young adult. They were his students that were trying to manipulate the orbs they had summoned. Vilmare canted his head and walked around with his hands behind his back in curiosity. He studied the young dark elves demonstrating the dark magic. The dark-elf sorcerer was mumbling loud enough for the class to hear, as several high-pitched voices from the students varied in effort. The mysterious elf teacher opened his eyes, looking straight at Vilmare while he continued with his instructions. The sorcerer then popped the lights up in the air above his head, where the lights formed into a straight line and filed downward, disappearing into the palm of the sorcerer’s hand. He then instructed the children in their native tongue, “That will be it for the day.” He glanced at Vilmare, and with minimal effort, he lifted himself using only his leg strength. The portly mage leaped to the ground, shoeless, showing his surprising agility. This mage was slightly shorter than the average dark elf that roamed the village but seemed the most receptive to Vilmare.
“Elf priest, you have a power that I cannot understand. Walk with me,” the dark elf insisted. “You may call me Dhzeron [De-zeron],” the dark elf said as he grasped the elf priest by the elbow and walked up to the ascending stairs. Vilmare noticed when the sorcerer walked next to him that he had similar ward marking on the side of his face as the one he received from the queen. But the sorcerer’s markings were less detailed because of the deep wrinkles on the cheek and the crow’s feet that stretched back inches from the side of sorcerer’s eyes. “I heard you faced the drakul and lived. No one has the power to control the drakul unless you are in favor with Houknor.” Dhzeron continued to explain, “I seek to prepare our future sorcerers to be ready for the war to come. We, the dark elves, carry many secrets, and unfortunately, these tend to be secrets from within ourselves. So beware, elf priest, for there are some in the village that do not like that you have the power of a dragon draun.”
Vilmare, with a confused look on his face, finally replied, “Dragon draun?”
“Yes, a draun is an apostle to Houknor who can communicate with the dragon. If powerful enough, they can summon the dragon to commit their bidding. I welcome you to seek out the position of draun. Edmer told me you have special powers that will help with the metal beast. Is this true? I will be at your aid, young priest, when the time calls upon me.” Vilmare didn’t know how to answer, so he just gave a slight nod that he understood. Dhzeron looked straight into the eyes of Vilmare, noticing the red pupils with gold-colored irises surrounding them. The dark elf sorcerer knew this elf boy was special, but not the extent of what power he could wield.
They walked up to the stone stairs while Dhzeron explained the power of dark magic and how it could not fully develop the Haugernauts to their full strength. Neither could Edmer harness the magic needed for the Haugernauts. Edmer was able to get one Haugernaut to do his bidding, with the help of the devilish gnome, but that one was a long way from their control.
Dhzeron’s thick fingers had long black fingernails that looked sharp enough to penetrate the skin of an adversary. Vilmare could not help but stare at the nails as the sorcerer elegantly spoke with his hands. Dhzeron explained sorcery as being magic that required the request of the elements to be harnessed by the user. Only then could a spell be voiced, once granted. Vilmare looked up through the archway, where the dark elves were working on the four Haugernauts. Mezzercho, with his staff, focused on a silver Haugernaut he had once tried to harness.
“Mezzercho.” Dhzeron quietly acknowledged his presence in the hall. The stout dark elf looked back at Dhzeron with a perplexed look on his face that was followed by a quick glance at Vilmare, who was attached to the hip of Dhzeron. Mezzercho said to Dhzeron in dark elvish, “I cannot seem to get the Haugernaut to accept the command ward. I have not the power to penetrate the internal magic of the damn beast.”
Dhzeron then suggested, “Let me see what the elements say.” Dhzeron reached in his robe pocket and removed a blue crystal, a yellow crystal, and a light-brown crystal. He closed his eyes and fumbled the gems in his hands, but the shards of crystals would glow with a fluttering light then go back to being lifeless pieces of rock. “Nothing,” Dhzeron said with an accompanying shake of the head.
Mezzercho stood in front of the Haugernaut with his staff glowing a bright gold shimmer. He incanted a spell to summon a magical ward, then he placed the bottom of the staff on the Haugernaut. The stout sorcerer started etching the ward on the silver orb. The grimacing pain on his face, followed by his quivering lips, showed the elf priest that Mezzercho’s strength was not enough to penetrate the Haugernaut’s internal magic. Mezzercho started to bend at the knees as the light from the ward was getting brighter. The dark-elf sorcerer began to wobble and then started losing his balance. Vilmare quickly grabbed the staff as Mezzercho fell to the ground, staring at the elf priest. Vilmare stood erect in front of the metal beast, with the glowing staff in hand. Vilmare said nothing as he closed his eyes, with the bright shimmering light flooding the young elf priest’s face. His cheeks shook like a mighty wind was blowing through his mouth. The Haugernaut began to float in the air, leaving the pedestal, with the workers and the mages gawking at the silver ball rising. Shielding eyes of the dark elf had never witnessed the success of the magic, which was revealed by the stunned silence. Vilmare’s eyelids opened, exposing his red eyes as he yelled out, “Agu Aba Senerta.” A bright light filled the eyes of the spectators. The sound of metal grinding began, as the orb was taking shape while the audience were shielding their eyes. A bright yellow glow surrounded the hall.
The light disappeared as Mezzercho, with his mouth wide open in astonishment, saw the fifteen-foot silver Haugernaut, with its head shaped like that of the slender elf priest. It had large almond-shaped red eyes, and its ears were similar to Vilmare’s ears but protruded straight back from its head. Its right hand came to a sword blade that was as long as the elf’s legs. The left side was a normally designed hand, but then the forearm expanded into a rounded shield that neared the size of the young elf priest. It was a metal that had a unique radiance. Vilmare’s head looked down in exhaustion as the beast stared at him, awaiting a command. Mezzercho’s wide-open mouth morphed into a smile while the dark elf workers started chanting, with their fists striking the sky in glorious celebration. Mezzercho then grabbed the shoulders of the exhausted elf priest and stared straight into his eyes, yelling, “We are ready for war!”