Chapter 1

Destinies Unfolding

Cresting the hill, the party and Khamir got their first sight of Hammerdine. The city sprawled out before them. Even Amara, who was from the decently-sized city Eskele, was a bit awed. The city walls were the dominant feature from this distance, a large gray series of stones that ringed the inner city. But since they had been finished, centuries ago, the city had expanded, and now much of it lay outside the protection of the walls themselves. The skyline was dominated by a squat building sitting near the center, surrounded by other large buildings. Off to the east, however, another large building sat just inside the walls. Rynn gave a small whistle, and his excitement seemed to spread to his wolf companion, Ranna. All Rynn’s journeys on the death side of Jenoa had not even given him any experience with a city this size. Darkcrest was rumored to be quite large, but he had never visited it. Khaska was probably the most visibly affected, the Maha’i cleric gaping at the sprawling metropolis before him. Jevereshk was nothing compared to this massive city.

Khamir smiled at seeing his friends in such awe. “Hammerdine is a great city. Built over the centuries. It’s outgrown the walls made to fight the Tlerian empire.”

“Looks like they’re building a new set of walls,” Rynn said. Indeed, at closer look, it was obvious that new walls were being put up around the city.

Orensland, however, seemed unphased. “It’s a big city. Many opportunities for us, but I’d like to get rid of this rotting head if at all possible. Come! Let’s find the Faatin Merchant House and tell them that Jonathan of the Wastes is dead!”

“We will not take credit for killing him,” Jenika said.

“Yes, yes. You’ve all made that quite clear. But they need to at least know that he’s dead, right? Maybe they’ll still be happy enough to reward us with something.”

Another hour of travel put them at the gates of the city proper itself. The guards themselves were not that concerned with the party, letting them pass. It was obvious that trade between parts of the city, including the barrier between the inner and the outer cities and all the construction crews working on the new wall, made watching people enter the city almost impossible, so the party was able to enter without incident. Orensland asked about the Faatin Merchant House, and after the group was pointed in the right direction, they also managed to find an inn only a few blocks from the Merchant House’s headquarters. Khamir accompanied them, and got his own room at the inn, but dropped his equipment in his room and then immediately left. There was a temple to the Platinum Dragon in the city, and he wanted to pray in a sacred building and report in to his superiors.

After settling in, Orensland made a beeline for the Merchant House headquarters. If Jenika didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was trying to get there without any of the rest of the party present, but they all followed. Khaska and Jenika specifically made sure they did not loose him.

The headquarters was quite ornate, the workmanship of the building itself exquisite. It was right next to a stables, also owned by the Merchant House, and there were many different people coming and going or just milling around the courtyard. Orensland was about to ask one of the people where he might find an official, but suddenly a booming voice cried out.

“Orensland! Rynn! Hello! It is good to see you!” Waltheof had been standing off to the side speaking with someone, when the party arrived. The heavyset man came over. “Khaska! I thought you would have gone back to your people.” He was clearly surprised to see the Maha’i.

“It is true, that I have been called on a strange path,” the cleric said. “But I am pleased to walk it with friends.” He held out his hand. “And to see old acquaintances.”

Waltheof paused momentarily, but then smiled and shook the cleric’s hand vigorously. “And I must say, you’ve upgraded your outfit since I saw you last.” He rapped on the plate armor. “Your suit suits you. Suit suits!” He laughed at his own inadvertent joke.

“I’m glad you came. Did you manage to track the goblins?”

“We did,” said Rynn. “The situation has been dealt with.”

“Oh wonderful. Wonderful! And Hartwin, that’s our boss, he has been expecting you. Come, he will want to meet you!”

“That would be wonderful,” said Orensland. “But who do we talk to about a reward?”

“Yes, yes. The head. Hartwin also knows about that. He is the one to talk to!” The big man shuffled off, and the party followed suit. They were quickly ushered into the building proper from the courtyard.

Hartwin’s office was very ornately decorated. Tapestries and art adorned the walls, and the carpet was very fine and well-embroidered. His desk was of some dark wood, polished to perfection. Its fixtures were solid gold. He himself, a tall, dark-haired elf, was wearing fine vestments. A silver chain hung around his neck, a symbol of The Dweller on the Horizon dominating jewels woven into the chain itself. The elf stood as Waltheof entered.

“Hartwin, these are the heroes I spoke of.”

“Ah,” said the elf. “Khaska of the Mawkhavi Maha’i, Rynn Fowler, Amara of Eskele, Orensland the elf, and Jenikah of Shinadoh. Welcome to the Faatin Merchant House.” He rang a small bell sitting on his desk and a young man appeared from an adjoining room. “Wine, for our friends. One virgin drink.” The boy bowed and left.

Amara was a little taken aback. “How do you know all of our names?” the sorceress asked.

“It’s my business. You five were instrumental in saving the outpost, Waltheof, Gereon, and the caravan. I made sure to ask Waltheof and the others about all of you. As I understand it, things might have gone very differently had you not been there. For that I owe you my thanks, and the Faatin Merchant House is in your debt.” The young man returned carrying a tray with wine glasses for each of them. Khaska took the virgin one, which the boy pointed out to him.

“I was also told that the goblins who attacked were in possession of the head of Jonathan of the Wastes?” continued Hartwin, indicating that they should sit on the chairs across from his desk.

“That’s right,” said Orensland. He held up a burlap sack he had been carrying the head in since Hillsdale. “Gereon said there would be a reward?”

Hartwin smiled. “There is indeed.” He indicated for the young man to take the bag, and he did so, though grimacing. Hartwin had him take it to another official of the Merchant House, for identification and verification.

“I’m not sure,” Khaska interjected after the boy left, “that we should be taking credit for that.”

Hartwin’s smile flattened for just a moment, then the corners of his mouth turned up even higher than before. “Whatever you feel comfortable with, but I offered the reward for two reasons. One, for the brave people who could track down and kill Jonathan. Second, to assure us, and others who travel through the Wastes, that he really is dead. If the goblins killed Jonathan, and you took care of the goblins, I think it stands to reason that you deserve the reward for killing him. At the very least, you deserve part of the reward for bringing us his head, and assuring others that they will be safer traveling through the Wastes now. Jonathan was a blight on all traveling through the Wastes, a bandit with little honor or remorse. But, as the head of the Faatin Merchant House, and as the person in charge of the reward, I offer the entire reward to you, full well knowing that you did not actually track down and kill Jonathan.”

The merchant leader moved on without much of a pause. “Also, I assume you will be in town for at least a few days? If so, I would like to invite you for dinner tomorrow night, here, courtesy of the Faatin Merchant House. Also, I understand that Dragonrider Reitman has personally invited you to come visit with him at the local chapter of the Knights of the Silver Dragons. I can have one of my servants escort you there directly at a time of your choosing. If there is anything else we can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The party paused, but Orensland quickly stepped forward. “We would love to accept your gracious invitation as well as the full reward.” Then he stopped, and looked at the others, but nobody seemed to disagree with him. He turned back and nodded.

Hartwin cracked a small smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “Tomorrow night, then. I usually take dinner at about 5:30 pm. Would that be acceptable?”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Amara, throwing out her most charming smile. “We’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to hearing of your adventures and getting to know you better.” He rang the bell and scribbled a note as the young man entered again. Then he removed his ring and pressed it into some melted wax. “Has the head been verified?” The young man nodded once. “Good. Then escort our friends down with this note to Master Renderall. He’ll know what to do with it.”

The elf looked at the party. “Master Renderall is our accountant. He will be able to give you your reward. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

Amara pursed her lips before speaking. “I wondered what would be the best way to get a note to Dragonrider Reitman. I would rather not just go barging into the chapterhouse without at least some warning.”

Hartwin smiled. “Quite right. But I think you’ll find the Knights an amicable lot. For all their militancy and Hammerdine basically requiring high taxes to subsidize their efforts, which I agree with by the way, nobody wants Arkenos to destroy . . . well, anything, and the pinch those taxes create on businesses like ourselves. Well, they are an honorable lot, and their Code of the Good Dragons means that they wouldn’t turn you away. But, how about you write a letter up and I will have a courier deliver it. It might get more attention coming from a well-respected merchant rather than a random traveler. They get a lot of letters and visits from people who are, well, just looking for attention.” He winked.

Amara laughed. She liked this elf who talked too fast too much, yet seemed to be well-mannered and quick to think on his feet. It hadn’t occurred to her that just showing up at the Knights with a story about meeting a Dragonrider might be not well-received. After all, Reitman probably wasn’t waiting anxiously at the door for them. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said.

The elf gave a quick bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to accomplish today. Please,” he motioned towards, “follow Chad and he will take you to Master Renderall.”

Getting the reward money was quick and efficient. While the accountant was counting out their reward, Amara wrote a letter to Dragonrider Reitman, and Chad took it and promised to have it delivered with all expedience. Master Renderall was very gracious to the party, and soon they found themselves outside the merchant house headquarters with a substantial amount of platinum. Orensland was nearly giddy with excitement.

“What are you going to spend yours on?” he eagerly asked.

“I’ve got a notion to begin working on a bow, to increase my skill,” said Rynn.

“All that platinum and you want to make your own bow? That’s it?” The rogue was incredulous.

“Not only that,” Rynn said. “I think it might be a good investment to buy one also. My skill at making them is not yet as my skill in shooting them.”

“You are quite the marksman,” said Khaska. “I am glad that you are with me.”

“Let’s go see what the market has to offer!” said Orensland.

“I think it would be better if we sold Samur’s spellbook first,” Amara said. She looked at Orensland with her head slightly cocked. “More money to blow all in one place.”

“Ah. Not a bad idea. Lead the way, my sorcerous friend!” Amara made sure her back was turned before she rolled her eyes.

“Actually, I’d rather go myself. I want to spend some time with the wizards and their arcane libraries. How about I promise to bring all the money to you tonight, if I can sell it by then.”

“You’re just going to run off and sell it?”

The sorceress seethed at the rogue, who was apparently unaware that he was treading on personal matters. Jenika reached out and touched his shoulder. “If she wants to spend some time in the libraries, let her.”

Khaska also stepped forward. “Leave her alone in this matter, my friend. She seeks information about her powers and wishes to explore her destiny. That is a solitary path.”

Amara was a bit surprised at the way the Maha’i seemed quietly forceful about it. He nodded to her, then turned back to Orensland. “Come! Let us see if we might find a bard? Perhaps hearing some of the songs of ancient lore will cheer you up.” He led the rogue away.

Rynn had watched the exchange with amusement, but followed after Khaska and the others. Amara was left alone. She had noticed that the Maha’i had led Orensland away from their inn, and made haste to return, grab the spellbook, and leave.

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The wizard’s guild of Hammerdine was housed in a decently sized building, and it had been easy to find. City guards were most helpful, something she found rather unusual. It had taken several attempts at asking various random cityfolk before someone merely suggested she ask a guard. On her first attempt, she was directed right to the wizard’s guild building. The guards in Eskele would likely not have been as helpful. She filed this random fact about Hammerdine away in her mind.

It didn’t take her long to find someone willing to talk to her about buying a wizard’s spellbook. Such items were in high demand, even the haphazardly organized satchel of notes from a hedge wizard, and she was able to get a fair price for it. Amara made sure to get a writ of purchase to pacify Orensland as to the amount of money that exchanged hands. It was then that she asked if she could peruse the arcane library the guild had. The apprentice wizard she was working with this whole time seemed a bit confused by that.

“Um, I do hate to be rude,” the young man said, “but what purpose would you have in perusing our library.”

Amara shot a withering glare at him. “Personal reasons, mostly. Research into my own arcane powers.” She reached her hand out and three small glowing white orbs manifested, orbiting around each other in a complicated pattern from her Prestidigitation spell. “There’s a reason I don’t need a spellbook.”

A look of confusion passed over the young man’s face, but then he opened his mouth. “Oh,” he said. “Oh.” He pursed his lips. “Let me check with Magus Silverman, the head librarian. Normally only guild wizards are allowed, but he might make an exception.” He executed a quick, yet formal, bow, and left her. It didn’t take but a few minutes, but he came back and escorted her directly to Silverman’s office, just outside a room she glanced in filled with books and scrolls, where many wizards were hunched over desks meticulously copying or studying.

The half-elf wizard was kind and had her sit in his office. His hair was beginning to gray around the temples, and he had a soul patch on his chin. His desk was cluttered with various books and scrolls, the main portion of it dominated by what looked like a ledger sheet. The apprentice wizard remained outside the office. “So, a sorcerer, are you?” He said. “What need have you to study spellbooks and tomes of arcane lore?”

“To be honest, I was hoping to find books on dragons and their humanoid offspring.”

“Ah, think you might have a bit of dragon’s blood in you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Well, we have a few tomes that I would be willing to let you peruse, tomes that may be of use to you, but I have to be honest, very few learned men adhere to that theory of sorcerous magic anymore. The books are old and not considered as important as they were when they were first published. Some of the newer works might be of more interest to you.”

“Why are they no longer considered important?”

“Oh, they’re important in a historical sense. But those theories are just not held as widely.”

“Why not?” Her face was an unreadable mask, something she had long practiced at boring meetings, dinners, and in the face of idiotic suitors attempting to court her (more like court her father’s money, at least the ones from the lower citadels of Eskele). But inside she was being crushed. Was draconic ancestry not the source of her power?

The wizard shrugged. “The number of dragons in the world intermixing and having humanoid children has obviously gone down. There are only 54 dragons left, maybe some eggs here or there under the direction of the Knights, and they are not having children. Yet the number of sorcerers does not decrease. Another theory must be found.”

“Are there any theories that have gained ascendency?”

“Not as of yet. But I am a wizard, and an academic one at that. I fear that aside from giving you access to the books you seek, which I do willingly, I have not much to teach or even in common magically with a sorceress such as yourself.” He stood. “Come, I will show you the area of the library you should peruse and a few of the books you should read. But your best course of action might be to go to the house of Solus Hiddel. He runs sort of a training camp for sorcerers out of his mansion. He’s a very powerful sorcerer in his own right. He would have more insight into the source of your power than we wizards, I’m afraid. As you are probably aware, we take a more theoretical and academic approach to magic.” He smiled. “Sometimes I envy you sorcerers for your ability to simply . . .” he cocked his head, looking for the right word, “create magic.” Then he shrugged. “But I’m sure it has its disadvantages, too.”

Not allowed to take any of the books from the library, she spent several hours looking the tomes on draconic lore over, but Magus Silverman was right. The books that spoke of draconic heritage were ancient and covered with dust. Books that spoke of sorcerous power coming simply from innate ability, such as divine spellcasters, wizards, bards, and others, were of more recent date and represented the most current scholarship on the matter. Discouraged, she left, but not before saying goodbye to Silverman. He was gracious, and wished her well in her quest for understanding.

It was late, the sun had disappeared behind the buildings but had not yet set. So she headed back to the inn. Rynn and Orensland were playing a game of dice with one of the other patrons, Jenika and Khaska were off to the side, eating dinner and talking. Amara ordered some food from a passing waitress for the inn, but before she could sit with the cleric and the monk, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Amara Palladila?” She turned to see a Knight of the Silver Dragons.

“Yes.”

“Excellent! I have been sent by Dragonrider Reitman, who received your note. I have already talked to your friends. I am to inform you that you are welcome at the Hammerdine Chapterhouse of the Knights at any time, but that Rider Reitman himself would like to meet with you on Thursday in the morning, at 10 am. Would that be acceptable to you?”

“Why yes, yes it would,” she said. That would be the morning after their dinner with Hartwin.

“Then we hope to see you then,” he said. “Markus preserve you until then.” He saluted her with his fist against his chest, then turned smartly and left the inn.

Suddenly more pleased than before, Amara sat down next to Jenika, across from Khaska. Orensland immediately came over to see how much she had sold the statue and spellbook for, and they divvied up the money. The rogue seemed mockingly offended that she obtained the writs of purchase, but, then smiled, and genuinely thanked her before returning to the game.

Amara poked at her food for several minutes, still slightly down from the experience at the wizard’s guild. The excitement of the proposition of meeting Dragonrider Reitman again wore off as she began to reflect on the events of the day. Her mood soured as she ate, and Khaska asked what was wrong. She explained the events at the guild to him, and her findings in their library. His face kept its typical illegibility.

“One’s destiny is not unraveled in a day. The path we walk is sometimes as important as the destination itself. I have no doubt that you will come to greater understanding of your purpose in time. The discouraged man has lost his way before beginning, as we say.”

Amara looked at him quizzically. “Wait? How did you know what I was going to look for this afternoon, right after meeting with Hartwin?”

The Maha’i’s ears dropped down to his head, and he looked down at his empty plate. “When Dragonrider Reitman came, I wanted to hear what he and that wizard were saying amongst each other, so I cast Comprehend Languages on myself just in case.” He looked at her. “I heard most of your conversation with the dragon, but eavesdropping was not my intention.” He gave a wan smile. “At least, not eavesdropping on you.”

“You don’t trust the Knights much, do you?”

“My kind and them have,” he paused, searching for the right phrase, “not been on friendly terms for some time now.”

“Why?” He sighed.

“It is a long story, and I have no talent like the bards of my people to do it justice.”

Amara paused, then decided that opening up wouldn’t be that bad. “I don’t trust them because of what they have done to the dragons, and how they are militarizing the entire world.”

Jenika frowned. “Wait. Are you saying you would rather the dragons be free? Or that we not be prepared to defend ourselves against the Dark Times? I was always told that I would be one of those that would defend our world during the Dark Times. Many members of my order have signed on with the Knights to defend Jenoa. I would think that this militarization is a good thing.”

“I suppose,” said Amara, “but at what cost? My home city is extremely militarized. It is not a pleasant society to live in. I hope the Knights do not turn the world all that way, even if we fight back the forces of Arkenos.” She looked at Khaska. “That is why I do not trust the Knights, even though our defense clearly rests in their hands.” There was a slight pause. “So what is this story that you do not want to tell?”

Reluctantly, the cleric told the story of Tawru, the Maha’i paladin who had joined the Knights. During the war between Hammerdine and the Tlerian empire, Tawru left the order to free a large number of Maha’i slaves, following his heart and the Code of the Good Dragons. For his disobedience, he was slain by the Knights, one of his horns broken, his sword lost. As he told the tale, Rynn and Orensland came over from their game. “I had never heard that before,” Rynn said. Ranna was sitting at his feet, seeming more melancholy, her mood seeming to mirror that of her ranger master.

“That is why the Maha’i of the wastes do not trust the Knights,” the cleric finally finished. “He was the only one of my race to ever join, and his story ends in betrayal and death.” The rest of the group was somber.

“It was hundreds of years ago,” Amara finally said. “All of the Knights who participated are dead. Though, I wonder how this is remembered in their history.”

Khaska snorted. “They probably do not even remember Tawru.”

Rynn was scratching the top of Ranna’s head. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad you shared that with us. It helps me understand you better, my friend. But it is getting late. Orensland and I were going to the market early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” the rogue said, a grin splitting his face. “Time to spend our money!” Both Rynn and Orensland stood. “Good night, my friends.”

“Markus keep you safe,” Khaska intoned. Amara merely raised her glass, and Jenika gave a small wave. A few minutes later, Amara also went to bed, leaving Jenika and Khaska alone at their table.

Jenika was serious, and now she was picking at her food. “Do you think that might happen to me?”

“To what do you refer?”

“Just seems the stuff out of legend. Betrayal. Friendships gone awry.” A whisper, now. “Killing a friend of yours.”

Khaska stared long and hard at the monk, the silence filling the air between the two of them across the table. “You are thinking of Kaylee.”

Jenika nodded.

The cleric’s face was stoic. “There are no easy answers to such questions. As I said to Amara, one’s destiny will unfold. I have pledged myself to help you, as have the others of our little party. If it is written in the sands of time that you should face Kaylee as enemies, you will not do so alone, though may Markus grant that friendship be restored.”

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The group left to explore Hammerdine the very next morning, right after breakfast. Amara took her leave of them, and Khaska made sure that Orensland did not pester her. There seemed to be no need, as the rogue merely gave a jaunty wave as the sorceress left, which relieved the Maha’i.

The market wasn’t completely crowded in the morning, their innkeeper had said. It was true. There were throngs of people, but space was not necessarily tight among the different vendors. Rynn and Orensland were both interested in the same thing, and were able to locate a magical items vendor after about an hour of searching. Coin exchanged hands, and the two were outfitted with new magical haversacks. Orensland immediately dumped most of his unnecessary trappings into it, keeping just a dagger at his side. Rynn kept his bow shouldered, the familiar way it rested on him comforting to the ranger.

Khaska was able to find a blacksmith that worked with the local wizard’s guild, and made arrangements to have his armor enchanted fully, the pieces that had been made by Bric Thosten back in Hillsdale still not bearing the extra armor enchantment that had originally been possessed by the armor. But it was as he exited the blacksmith’s shop that the Maha’i, quite surprisingly, ran into another one of his kind.

The two Maha’i looked at each other, Khaska’s mouth hanging slightly open. Then he shut it, straightened, suppressed an incipient thrill of excitement, and spoke in clear, crisp Maha’i. “Greetings, my brother, in the name of Tawru. I am Khaska Nzaidullek Mawkhavi Tereshkven.”

The other Maha’i stared blankly at him for a moment of incomprehension, then sighed. He spoke, but when he did so, it was in common. “I’m not interested in hearing it. Markus was not one of us, and I am not a traitor to my race for saying so. Good day!” The other Maha’i turned deliberately away and left.

Khaska was very startled by this rude reaction, and was very much confused. It was only later that he was given an insight into the exchange, and why this fellow Maha’i had reacted this way. It was several hours later, when they passed a group of Maha’i standing off to the side. One was atop a box, shouting to be heard over the din. A handful others were standing to the side, praying in a dialect of the Maha’i language that Khaska had a little difficulty understanding at first.

“Dragonrider Reitman refuses to listen to us, for his mind is darkened like all the others. He has been poisoned by the lies fed by his order, following in the footsteps of the liars who have hidden the truth. The Knights of the Silver Dragons do not have faith. They do not understand the truth! Markus, our most noble savior of Jenoa, founder of the Knights, was of our kin, born of the gods! And in the coming years, as Arkenos grows ever closer, he will return, triumphant! He will cast down the false Knights, and in glory and triumph he will drive back once again the dark forces from Arkenos, and thus will begin the reign of Markus, which will be glorious and will last a thousand years!” The speaker saw Khaska, and pointed. “You belong to a glorious race. Only by joining yourself with the Order of Faris Attineen will you be worthy to stand in the presence of Markus when he returns from the realms beyond! Join us, my brother!” Then he spoke in his Maha’i dialect. “Join us, my brother!”

Khaska turned and walked away. He had never before heard such blasphemy in person and was not interested in hearing any more from those that had left the Maha’i in the wastes and since became bitter enemies of the queen of Jevereshk. “Come,” he said to his companions. “I do not wish to hear any more.” Rynn led the way, pushing through the growing crowds. As they left, Khaska heard one more invective hurtled at his back.

“May you burn in the hells when Markus comes, and may his glorious radiance consume you who are not worthy to stand in his presence.”

The cleric looked straight ahead and did not acknowledge the preaching Maha’i again.

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A small demonstration of her magical ability managed to get Amara into the house of Solus Hiddel. She was quickly ushered into the house after casting a small cantrip, where she was met by another sorcerer.

“Have you come to learn from Master Hiddel?” the tall, regal-looking human asked as he glided in.

“I’m not sure how long I will be staying, but I thought at least a visit would be worthwhile.” The young man did not ask her to sit, but instead stood as she shared as much with him as she dared, basically, that she was from a city that did not look favorably upon sorcerers and she had come to Hammerdine to learn what she could about her heritage.

“And how did you find out about us?”

“The wizard’s guild sent me here.” He laughed briefly, then covered his mouth.

“Why would you go to the wizard’s guild?”

She straightened. “If you must know, I had recently come into possession of a spellbook, and since I obviously don’t need one, I thought I could get some money out of it. The wizard’s guild seemed a logical place to try to sell it. While I was there, I read some of their scholarly works on sorcerous power, and when I inquired about sorcerers, they told me about Master Hiddel.” Her explanation done, she glared at him.

He was not smiling any more. “I apologize. That seems reasonable. For a moment, I thought you were under the delusion that wizards could teach sorcerers.”

“Wizards are not frowned upon as much as sorcerers in my home city. Yet I tried it. Total failure.”

He changed the subject. “Did you learn anything from their library? I have heard it is quite extensive on matters of arcane lore.”

“Just that they seem to think sorcerers do not get their powers from draconic heritage, something that I had always been taught in my hometown. I think it’s one reason sorcerers are not trusted. If the only dragons left are evil, that casts doubt on sorcerers.”

“So, you still think that sorcerers get their powers from dragons?” He was smiling again.

“I am unsure,” she gave him another withering stare. “It seems to make sense to me.”

This time he laughed out loud, and did not try to hide it. “The myths and legends of the countryfolk. Ah,” he smiled again, “how little you understand.” He shook his head. “You would be welcome to study with us, but you will be disabused of your foolish bedtime stories very quickly under Master Hiddel.”

“I’ll think about it,” she tersely said. He explained to her what apprenticeship might mean, but made it clear that each “student” was to be self-sufficient. When she asked him what benefits she would gain by being a student of Master Hiddel and his other apprentices, he merely shrugged.

“Master Hiddel is a well-known and well-respected sorcerer. Hammerdine is very interested in his students to join their army, under the Knights of the Silver Dragons. Having your name associated with him would open doors.”

It was obvious to her that apprenticing herself to Master Hiddel would be less about gaining understanding of her powers and more about joining a prestigious club. “I’ll think about it,” was all she would say. The thought of meeting Dragonrider Reitman still loomed in her mind. She hoped she would be able to meet and talk with Ziranethsrana again, even if that was unlikely. The conversation with the young man ended, she left, barely containing her disdain for his arrogance and rudeness.

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The group seemed rather grumpy when they assembled for dinner with Hartwin. Khaska was disturbed because of both the pushy missionaries of the Order of Faris Attineen and how he had been mistaken for one of them—not to mention the Maha’i that could not understand his tongue. Amara was steaming at the young sorcerer from Solus Hiddel’s mansion. Yet the sorceress was quick to make sure they were all assembled and ready to go on time. They arrived a few minutes before 5:30, and were ushered into an elaborate dining room. Hartwin joined them a few minutes later, dressed in some fine clothing again. He was accompanied by Waltheof, and had servants bring out an elaborate meal. They all made small talk, and the party found themselves again describing their adventures with the gnomes, and also the encounter with the harpies and the rescue of Khamir. Waltheof was overjoyed to hear of their adventures, but Hartwin seemed more reserved, though he was grateful to hear that they would be meeting with Dragonrider Reitman the very next day. Finally, after the dessert course had been served, did the elven merchant move on to more serious matters.

He dipped his hands in a bowl of water in front of him and wipped them on his napkin. Then he folded his hands and rested them on the table, just in front of the plate. “I would again like to thank you for your help defending the outpost. It likely would have been a total loss, and though I wish the gnomes responsible could be held accountable, that seems unlikely. We will put out a reward for them, and perhaps some bounty hunter will take up the cause, but if they have a skyship, tracking them is next to impossible. I harbor no illusions that they will be found.”

“To be fair,” said Khaska, “I do not think they were responsible directly.”

“No?” Hartwin asked. “One of the guards was dominated, you said it seemed so, as assessed by the wizard accompanying Dragonrider Reitman. Yet by your own admission, this Nathan character was not any kind of wizard or sorcerer. He would not have been able to dominate anybody. It stands to reason that one of the gnomes was partially responsible.” Then he waved his hand. “But no matter. The past is gone. It is of the future that I wish to speak.” He leaned forward. “I know that you do not wish to take credit for killing Jonathan of the Wastes, but you were instrumental in discovering that he was dead, and after fighting goblins and harpies, you are clearly no average travelers.”

“Now,” he stood up, “I want to make one thing absolutely clear. I do not want an answer tonight. Any response you give to what I am about to say will be impulsive, and first impulses are seldom wise.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I have authorization from the main headquarters in Tidewater City to offer you employment in the Faatin Merchant House. Quite simply, we find it is good for business to have some ‘heroes’ on our payroll, and you certainly fit the bill. Your duties would be simple. Escort a caravan here, a merchant official there, all on our dime. You would be figureheads, really, more than anything. Traveling the continent over, seeing new lands. It would not be terribly dangerous, at least, not more dangerous than traveling anyway.”

“So please, think on it, but I do not want an answer now. You could be famous, and we can help with that. Help you earn the recognition your deeds deserve. And in exchange, you help us with some minor escorts and other such tasks. Really, I cannot describe your day to day duties under such an arrangement, because they really will vary from time to time. Khaska can speak to how our caravans operate, since he was accompanying Waltheof and his caravan through the wastes. I imagine that most of your work would be of similar kinds of tasks, more ceremonial guards than real mercenaries, but for good pay.” He had been pacing, but now stopped at the door. “Now, thank you for the good company. Please, think on my offer. Waltheof will be able to answer any other questions, but I have business to attend to so that I may wrap up the day’s affairs.” The elf gave a polite bow, then turned and left. The party asked a few questions of Waltheof, who also made it clear that he was not to accept a final answer this night, but were really not able to glean any more information. Waltheof would be their point of contact with the Merchant House if they decided to join, and it would be a two-year contract.

Rynn was intrigued by the possibility of such wanderings. Khaska knew that the merchant house dealt fairly with its employees. The others weren’t so sure, but said that they would think on it. They discussed it amongst themselves on their way back to the inn, where Amara promptly headed to bed, wanting sleep for their meeting in the morning.

They all slept that night in anticipation of the meeting in the morning. Meeting personally with one of the famed Dragonriders of the Knights of the Silver Dragons, by invitation. It was a rare opportunity indeed.

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Amara practically shoed them all out the door at 9 a.m., wanting to be early to this appointment. If possible, the sorceress was going to try to see the dragon Ziranethsrana again. They arrived at the Hammerdine chapter of the Knights a good twenty minutes early.

The same Knight that had delivered the message was waiting for them outside. He saluted again with his hand to his chest as they approached. “Welcome to our chapter. Dragonrider Reitman is expecting you. Please, come with me.” With that, he turned and walked through the open gate, under an open portcullis. The group followed him, Rynn leading the way, followed by Amara. Khaska brought up the rear, hesitating ever so slightly. He was wary of entering the chapter, but steeled his resolve to step through.

However, as Amara and Rynn stepped through the end of the entry arch, the ground under their feet began to glow, and a gong sound could be heard. Immediately their escort whirled, drawing his sword. Several other nearby Knights sprang to action, also drawing their weapons.

“Whoa,” said Rynn, raising his hands defensively. Ranna dropped to a crouch, growling. The Knights quickly surrounded them, more pouring out of the nearby buildings in the chapterhouse, some not even fully armored, but all armed.

“What is going on?” Khaska demanded, stepping forward and pushing Amara back. The Knights nearest to him looked ready to spring on him at a moment’s notice.

“Stand back! Stand back!” came a woman’s voice. The Knights parted, but warily, as Quilleh approached. She was rubbing some kind of ointment on her eyes as she came closer, and looked at the group warily. The moment was tense. Orensland was prepared to draw his daggers, though little good it would do against what seemed to be a substantial portion of the entire Hammerdine chapter of the Knights! Jenika was also tense, hands up in a defensive posture. Then Quilleh relaxed. “They are fine. False alarm.” She glared at them. “Waste of a perfectly good spell component. An expensive one, too.” She whirled away, and the Knights relaxed and began to return to their previous activities.

The party’s guide slammed his sword back into his sheathe. “I apologize for that. Security measures designed to keep out enemies.”

“What enemies?” Amara asked. She was clearly shaken.

“To be honest, I do not know. When we take the oaths as paladins, we are told that there are wards among most of our chapterhouses. Sometimes a demon will try to sneak in. We are taught that if we hear that gong sound, we are to respond immediately, because the chapterhouse is in danger.” Amara immediately grew suspicious. Such a powerful ward would not have malfunctioned, but unless one of her companions was a secret demon, a thought she found unlikely, there was no other explanation. “Please, follow me. Again, I apologize.”

Dragonrider Reitman joined them in a sitting room. Their guide executed a quick, formal bow, and then turned and left, shutting the door behind him. They were alone with the famed Dragonrider.

“I sincerely apologize,” he said. “The wards sometimes do malfunction, it seems. But come, sit. I would come to know you more, young heroes.”

He talked with each of them, asking questions, taking time to get to know them, interested in Rynn’s background as a ranger on the death side of the moon, Jenika’s training in the monastery of Shinadoh, and Orensland’s journeys so far. Then he turned to Amara. “And you, my lady, I fear I did not treat you very well when we first met, but time was of the essence.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Were you able to track the fugitive?” Amara asked.

Reitman shook his head. “Unfortunately, the trail went cold. Elial,” he paused for a moment, as if to say more, then caught himself, “Elial is missing again.”

“What were his crimes?” asked Khaska.

“His crimes were committed in centuries past when he lived in Dreqorun, but his power has grown. The Knights have been asked to track him down by the elven government, a standing agreement that has lasted since from before I was born.” He turned back to Amara. “But, in my haste, I feel that I did not give you an opportunity that you very much desired. This was rude of me and I apologize.” He clapped his hands and a young woman in acolyte’s robes came into the room. “If you are amenable to it, Acolyte Magda will take you to see Ziranethsrana, who will not harm you, and cannot say anything that is against my will.” He stroked the dragon orb hanging around his neck.

Amara’s eyes opened wide, and she nodded, mumbling a thanks before practically falling over her own feet to follow the acolyte.

The Dragonrider turned to Khaska. “And now Khaska, of the Maha’i. I spoke of my confusion over how your people are reluctant to help the Knights with even trivial matters. I wished to ask you this, in person. Why is this so?”

At that moment, the flapping of great wings came from outside, thundering wind blasting the building they were in, heard from even the room they occupied, which had no windows. Reitman clapped his hands again and another acolyte appeared.

“Whichever Dragonrider has arrived, send them in to see me immediately.”

He turned back to Khaska, whose face became nearly unreadable. Rynn reached down, almost as if to comfort himself by touch Ranna’s fur. Jenika and Orensland shifted uncomfortably. “We do not trust the Knights because of your betrayal of one of our own,” the cleric said.

The Dragonrider seemed genuinely surprised. “Betrayal?”

With great care, and emotion bordering between incredulity and anger, but also with respect and control, the cleric told Dragonrider Reitman of the tale of Tawru that he had repeated just two days earlier to his companions. Like them, Reitman’s reaction was one of shock and depression. But midway through the tale the doors burst open and another Knight, also a human, came striding in. Hair jet black with streaks of gray, this human was shorter than Reitman. Accompanying him was a small Halfling, dressed very well, with red hair. The Halfling looked almost bored.

“Well met, Gerald!” the man said.

“Well met, Matthew!” Reitman replied. The two grasped each other’s wrists, their armor clanking against their gauntlets.

“The ward were tripped, we were nearby and came to see if assistance was needed.”

“A false alarm. It was these good people here, actually.” With that, the Halfling suddenly seemed interested.

“You had a wizard verify they are not . . . enemies?”

“My wizard companion from the university of Dreqorun, Quilleh. Yes.”

“Excellent then. I think that I will have a bit to eat from your commissary and be on my way to Tir’Kon.”

“A task for Dakk?”

“Yes. I am to inspect the troops. I am told that their gryphon riders are growing more skilled in aerial combat every day.”

“Very good. It am glad to have seen you.” The two again clasped hands, and Rider Matthew saluted the party, then turned and left. The Halfling went with him.

Reitman turned back to Khaska. “My apologies. You have told a tale that obviously means a great deal to you and your people, and it was interrupted. Please, continue.”

When the Maha’i was finished with his tale, Reitman pursed his lips.”I do not know this tale. It has not been told me by those who know of our history. But I swear to you that I will give you full access to our chapter library. If this Tawru was one of our number here in Hammerdine, there will be a record of his service. I will grant you full opportunity to search our archives. Sir Ing is a wise and meticulous librarian. He will know how to help you find any records of Tawru.” He stepped forward holding out his hands. “Arkenos and the Dark Times are upon us. Will you help me to do what we can to heal the rifts between my order and your people, so that we may join and defeat the devils of Arkenos?”

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The acolyte took Amara down several hallways. The sorceress was flabbergasted at this opportunity. Eventually, she came to a large doorway which was barred from the outside. Two Knights stood guard outside, and it took both of them to lift the bar that locked the iron door. The doors swung ponderously open, and Amara was ushered in.

It was a small room, with a functional bed, a table with two chairs, a mirror adorning one wall, and not much else. Sitting at one of the chairs was a regal looking elven woman with blue hair.

Ziranethsrana.

Amara immediately bowed. “Forgive the intrusion great one,” she said in formal Draconic. The doors swung shut behind her, and she could hear the crossbeam being lowered into place. “Dragonrider Reitman said you would answer my questions and that I could speak to you, but I do not wish to give offense to your greatness.”

The dragon laughed, a light, pearly laugh that seemed so out of place given what she actually was. “You give no offense. Was it you that tripped the ward?”

“It may have been.”

“Of course it was you. Who else could it have been? One of your friends?” The dragon laughed again. “The Knights, they do not even remember what the wards are for. In the early days, they worried that there were other dragons, and that those dragons would try to free me and the others that have been enslaved.” As she said “enslaved” her dainty elven voice gave way to something much more dark and sinister, a hint of her true draconic identity.

Suddenly the sounds of the crossbeam being lifted could be heard again. The doors swung open, and Amara, who had still not gotten up from her kneeling position, was able to see the small feet of a Halfling shuffle in. “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” a voice came. “Stay here!” Then the voice laughed. The door swung shut and locked again.

“Great Keldarian, this is the one that tripped the wards,” said Ziranethsrana to the newcomer. “She has come seeking knowledge of her heritage.”

“How interesting. How very interesting,” said the Halfling, also in draconic. “Rise, Zira. Rise, young lady.” Amara then noticed that Ziranethsrana had also knelt before the Halfling, but they both stood up.

“I am Keldarian, the red. And what is your name, young one?”

Amara trembled a little. She was now standing in the presence of two of the remaining dragons on the entire moon.

“Amara Palladia, greatness, of Eskele.”

Ziranethsrana spoke with great reverence to the other dragon. “Great one, I met this sorcerer several weeks ago. My rider apparently thought his actions rude, so has granted her an audience with me.”

Keldarian laughed. “Well, what a surprise. Locked in a room with two dragons.” He took a step forward. “Are you frightened?”

“Only a fool would not be. Yet I refuse to let fear dominate me.”

“A brave one, you are. Why would Reitman want you to talk to Zira?”

“His motives I cannot presume to know, sire. When we encountered each other previously I expressed a desire to converse with Ziranethsrana, but our time was limited due to Reitman's business. Perhaps he feels that he dishonored his agreement and wishes to rectify it.” She gave a small smirk.

“We were hunting Elial,” Ziranethsrana said.

“The rogue sorcerer? I assume you were unable to catch him. I'm sure my rider would have been informed. They have been looking for him for some time.”

“Let us move on,” said Zira. “If this human desires to speak to dragons, we had best make haste in our conversation.”

“Yes. No telling how long Matthew will be at breakfast. Amara of Eskele, what would you ask of us.” Keldarian sat down, and Zira did the same. Amara was left without a chair, looking at the blue-haired regal elf and the foolishly grinning Halfling, his legs swinging in the air and not touching the floor. The sorceress remained kneeling.

“First, honored ones, I must ask a question of . . . logistics. Sir Reitman said that Ziranethsrana—and by extension, I assume, honored Keldarian—could not say anything that is against his will. Are you, in truth, hampered in your expressions? And perhaps more importantly, can others hear what we discuss here?”

Keldarian laughed again, a kind of giggle coming from the small Halfling body. “Reitman may have overstated his control. Talk is rarely so against even the alignment of one of the Knights that we would come in disharmony with their wishes.”

“And nobody will be listening in,” Zira responded. “You may speak freely.”

Amara curtsied. “My thanks.” She laughed quietly. “I fear that my inquiries will be myriad, but I will try to impose some sort of order to them. Some questions I ask for my own interests. What signifies the tripping of the ward? Does my power then truly stem from draconic heritage?”

Keldarian laughed yet again. “You tripped the ward and they still let you in?” He looked at Zira. “Your rider is even dumber than I expected. Yes, that means you have the blood of dragons in you. A white one, I would venture to guess, because of the color of your hair.”

“That may not be true,” Zira countered.

“Well, it might be the dominant strain, then.” His eyes narrowed. “It might be a silver dragon’s though.” He stared for a moment. “Go on.”

“It’s just that, I’ve been researching sorcerous magic, and right now the prevailing theories from both the wizard guild of this city and the sorcerer’s apprentice I spoke to dismissed it as, well, rubbish.”

“Those fools know not of what they speak,” said Keldarian.

“As if they could understand the mysteries of our ancient race,” Zira responded. “A single drop of dragon's blood a thousand generations removed would still convey power beyond their paltry imaginations. In your case, at least, your power stems from the blood of a dragon which flows through your veins.”

“One last question which serves only my benefit,” Amara continued, “if you will permit. Do you know, then, how best I might learn and expand my abilities?”

It was Zira who answered. “Magic for one like us is different than for many others. Wizards study and learn, bards sing the music of the cosmos, clerics are granted powers by the gods, but we . . . Ours is inborn. It is innate.”

“You must exercise your abilities,” Keldarian intoned. “Stretch your mind. Only this will increase your powers. It is not something that can be readily taught.”

Amara curtsied again. “If you will, then, I have a few more...delicate questions.”

Zira leaned forward, the hunger in her eyes unmistakable. Keldarian stopped swinging his legs.

“What think you of Arkenos, and the Dark Times? For those who see so much and are so wise, I am sure you also have insight into the Knights their strengths, their weaknesses.”

Zira’s lovely face contorted. “If we survive them! Hundreds of years of enslavement leading up to an apocalyptic battle.”

Keldarian shot her a look. “You doubt your abilities too much.”

“My abilities do me no good against an entire army. Yours do not either.” She turned back to Amara. “If we do not find a way to escape the enslavement of the Knights, there may very well not be any dragons left after the next Dark Times.”

Amara nodded. “But you do not favor the dominion of Arkenos over our world?”

Keldarian snorted. “That depends entirely on their attitude towards chromatic dragons. Of which I know nothing.”

Zira raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting, Amara of Eskele?”

Amara sighed and frowned. “I fear I have not the power to suggest much of anything, yet.”

Zira shot back instantly, her voice ringing out. “Do not insult me. What where you thinking?”

Amara kneeled down. “Your pardon, great Ziranethsrana. Regardless of my own opinion about the Knights, they do seek to preserve this world—my world—and I must confess I would be uneasy about potentially contributing to its destruction.”

“So you want to know if the Knights will be victorious?” asked Keldarian. “That we do not know. We have little desire to see the world completely destroyed, either. For then, who would mine our gold?”

“No, sire. I merely wished to know if it is in your interests, too, to protect Jenoa.”

“Yes,” came Zira’s immediate reply.

“If there were a way to obtain your freedom, what would you do with it?”

“Kill the other Dragonriders. Free my brothers,” Keldarian said.

“They would converge together,” said Zira. “You would not stand a chance against all the others combined. You would be hunted down and killed like a rabid dog.”

Keldarian stood on his chair, his face red. “Then what?” His voice thundered, becoming slightly more sisnster and draconic. “Hide? Cower in the shadows?”

“Your pardon, great ones, for interrupting.” They both whirled on her, but did not say anything. “But if you and your brothers could all be freed at once, then what?” They looked back at each other.

“Go our separate ways,” said Zira, slowly turning back to the sorceress. “Return to the way things were before the Dragon Orbs.”

“The way things should be,” said Keldarian, sitting back down.

“And would that include in any measure the defense of Jenoa from Arkenos?” Amara asked.

“No,” said Keldarian.

Amara nodded. She had mostly expected that reaction.

“Find a mate, defend our posterity. Wait it out,” he said, shrugging. He began to swing his feet again.

“As I said earlier, I am weak, and in little position to obtain such freedom,” Amara said. “But I hope that will change.”

“You would aid us then, if you could?” asked Zira.

Amara smiled slightly. “Yes, I believe so. But, as I am sure you understand, I would like to be assured that it would not lead to my own destruction—at your hands, or the hands of the Knights.”

Keldarian giggled. “Looking out for yourself first. There may be hope for you yet.” He leaned forward. “The Knights are all hypocrites, speaking of honor and righteousness, while enslaving us.” He sat back in his chair. “At least you are honest. So few of your race are.”

The sound of the crossbeam on the door moving came through the thick iron of the huge doors. A few moments later they swung open. “Come, Keldarian. I would like to make Tir’Kon by night fall.”

The red headed Halfling gritted his teeth. “Coming, Rider Matthew.”

Zira got up from her chair and bowed. “Farewell, great one.”

“It was good to see you sister. Good luck.” He left, and the doors were pulled shut again, and the bar’s slamming down resounded in the room. Amara did not take the chair that had recently been vacated by the great red dragon.

Zira spoke. “What would aiding us grant you, who is so concerned for her own hide?”

“That I do not yet know. Suffice it to say that I am not convinced the Knights should be the ones controlling Jenoa.”

The dragon scoffed. “Self-righteous, arrogant, controlling idiots. On that we agree.” Then Ziranethsrana stared at Amara. The blue dragon stared for a very long time, enough time that Amara began to shuffle her feet and wanted to look away. Zira took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly and bowed her head in concentration. The smell of ozone and burning sand filled the room, and small flashes of lightning came off of the dragon’s skin, playing around her body. There was a bit of a flash, and Zira snapped her head up. A feeling of horror and fear crept over Amara. Zira’s frightful presence had been activated. The sorceress froze, fear washing over her in waves.

“I don't have a lot time before the orb reasserts control. Outside there are many beggars hoping for some charity from the Knights and their patrons. Give a gold coin to a beggar with one arm and call him ‘friend.’ He will lead you to others like you, who wish to aid us. And who have your heritage.”

The dragon shuddered, and Amara felt the frightful presence vanish, leaving her shaken.

“Now,” said Zira. “Were there other, more theoretical questions about your heritage that I might answer?”

“I know not which color of dragon lies in my ancestry, be it white or silver or another. Yet I still wish to make the most of my potential. How might I learn more of the abilities I might gain?”

“To answer that question, first I must know what you have already done to learn of them.”

“As much as I've known, but this is distressingly little. What started as accidental unleashings of my magic I have learned to tame into controllable fire and light.”

“Common occurrences for a sorceress newly coming into her magic power.”

“Beyond experimentation, though, I know not how to move on from here.”

“Experimentation will always be a good thing. Your power is yours and yours alone, and only you can discover its true nature and extent. However, for those with draconic ancestry, there are . . . other paths to power.”

“Please, great Ziranethsrana, I beg enlightenment.”

The elven face broke into a dazzling smile. “It is true that some sorcerers have draconic heritage, as we have discussed. But in some that heritage is not manifest only in magic ability.”

“In some, the dragon's blood that runs through their veins sings another song. A more ancient one. More primal. Have you heard of a dragon disciple?”

“The title I have heard, but I know little else.”

Zira’s smile broke forth again. “A dragon disciple is a term for a human offspring of a dragon in whom the draconic ancestry is manifest in a more . . . physical way. This is why Keldarian thought you might have white dragon ancestry. Your hair would be such a sign.” The dragon ran her hands through her own long blue hair.

“As such develop their magic powers, they begin to take on the characterestics of a dragon.”

“Great Ziranethsrana, how might I achieve this power?” Amara was practically begging at this point, the words spilling out of her.

“The question, first, is whether you want such power.” The dragon began to slowly change, so slowly that at first Amara was unsure that it was actually happening. Zira’s skin turned a slight blue color, and her hands, clasped in her lap, grew longer and more thin, the nails forming into claws. Scales appeared on her skin, her face hardening into a more serpentine appearance. Finally, wings sprouted from her back, spreading the length of the room. “There are obviously, shall we say, side effects. You would, if you pursued this path, look like this. More or less.”

Amara nodded, awestruck by the transformation.

“Worth the power, though, perhaps.”

Ziranethsrana returned to her elven form. “Power is always worth it, young one. The question is merely, what kind of power do you crave?”

“Sorcerous, certainly. Political, possibly. What other kinds are there?”

“Your mind is so limited.” The dragon sighed. “The things you speak of help you gain influence, it's true. But power, true power, comes from fear. It's not about political influence or sorcerous ability. You must make others fear what you will do with those. That is true power.”

Amara nodded. “I think I begin to understand, honored one. Thank you for your explanation; it is something towards which I will work. Would it please you, great Ziranethsrana, if I sought to return to speak with you again? Are there ways to meet the other great ones that reside here?”

“I doubt very much that my rider will simply allow you access to me whenever it suited you. It should be honor enough that you have spoken to both me and Keldarian. He is among the most ancient of us, born only decades after the last Dark Times. Besides, you now have . . . other options.”

Amara bowed her head low from her kneeling position. “I am very honored, great one. Is there any other way in which I may serve you or your kin?”

“Your future is yours to decide, little one. If you honor your draconic heritage, and especially if you dig deep within the dragon blood that runs through your veins, you will serve us in time. Such is the nature of things. I told you back in the Wastes that you may be of use. That may still be true.”

“As you decree, may it be so, great one. I will do as you have commanded.” Amara stopped bowing and returned her torso upright.

A large grin formed on the dragon’s face. “I am glad you have chosen to do so. Everything is your own choice. You have chosen to walk this path. Walk it well. Discover your heritage, but remember that your destiny is yours to control as well. You may have white dragon heritage, but you can choose how draconic heritage is manifested also. Your fate is in your hands. It may very well be that mine is as well.” She stood. “You had best leave, before my rider decides to end our discussion. I hope this has been instructive, little one.” She stepped forward, coming closer, her face growing serious. “And I trust you will look out for your own interests in all of this.”

Amara smiled. “I assure you, that is not something with which you need concern yourself. Selflessness has never been my calling.”

“Then I am glad we have come to an understanding.”

“With your permission, great Ziranethsrana,” Amara bowed, then turned to go, then realized that the doors were barred from the other side.

“Allow me,” the dragon said, walking to the doors, and pounding on them three times, then pausing, then two more. Amara was quite sure the force would allow the knocks to be heard even through the thick steel doors. They were rewarded with the sound of the bar being lifted, and they stepped back as the doors swung inward.

“Farewell, Amara Palladia of Eskele,” the dragon intoned.

“Farewell, great and powerful Ziranethsrana,” Amara said. The Knights guarding the dragon beckoned her, and she was able to glance as the blue dragon one last time as the doors swung shut.

“I hope,” puffed one of the Knights, “that I don’t have to open this bloody door again for the rest of the day!”

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Khaska was taken aback by the abruptness of the opportunity that was presented to him suddenly. In his wildest dreams he had not hoped to have the ear of one of the Dragonriders of the Knights of the Silver Dragons. The moment left him speechless, until Orensland poked him. “Go ahead,” the rogue said. The cleric looked from him, then back to Reitman, who was still holding his hands out.

Khaska took them. “If what I judge to be your sincerity is indicative of the attitude of all the Knights, I could foresee future friendship. I am but one, though, and have no authority.” He paused, thinking. “We have a saying: ‘Others forget the dark, but we wear it on our faces.’ You would have to show your sincerity to my whole race, for we all remember. With regards to what this might be, I would have to think. Might I return to speak with you later?”

“You are welcome any time, Khaska of the Maha’i,” said Dragonrider Reitman. “Before you leave today, let us at least introduce you to Sir Ing. Though, I am curious what you mean about wearing darkness on your faces.”

“Oh,” the cleric said. He pointed to the markings on his face, his fingers knowing exactly where his fur was dark. “It may be easy for you to forget the evils of the past, but the fact that we have these spots on our faces means that we are always reminded that there are evils to right.”

Reitman nodded solemly. “Your race is wise, then, and I can tell you have taken their lessons to heart.” He looked at the rest of the party. “It does my heart good to see heroes such as yourselves.”

Rynn frowned at this. He didn’t much like being called a “hero.” He was just doing what was right. However, Rider Reitman noticed the ranger’s face drop.

“What is it, Rynn my friend? You frown when I say such things.”

Now it was Rynn’s turn to shuffle uncomfortably for a moment or two, but always a straightforward man, he looked at Reitman. “You called us heroes back in the Wastes, and do so now, but I am not sure that title is what we are.”

Reitman boomed his laugh. “Sometimes when I run into folks like yourselves I call them ‘adventurers,’ for that is what they are. People who seek adventure. You, a cleric of the Maha’i, intent on mending rifts between your people and others, a ranger who goes out of his way to help others with his skills, a monk raised to help defend those weaker than herself, and a rogue who . . .”

Orensland got extremely uncomfortable and looked down at his feet, but Reitman continued after a brief pause.

“Who allies himself willingly with such folk, and a sorceress who is concerned with all life, including chromatic dragons. No, you are not merely adventurers. A hero is someone who does what is right, no matter the cost. You have proven yourselves people of such mettle. Not all heroes have songs sung about them for thousands of years, but the gods smile on them nonetheless.” A young acolyte came into the room with a scroll. The dragonrider nodded at the young lady. “However, now I have other business to attend to. It has been an honor.”

That ended the formal conversation. They were escorted to the courtyard to wait for Amara to finish her conversation, though Khaska was taken to meet Sir Ing first. As they milled about, Dragonrider Matthew came out, still trailed by the redheaded Halfling. The Knights present all saluted, and the Dragonrider returned their salutes with one of his own. The Halfling strode to the center of the courtyard, and the group noticed that everybody gave him a wide berth. The reason for this became apparent, as the Halfling shifted and morphed, growing from a diminuitive figure that barely came higher than anybody’s knee to a great red dragon, ancient, powerful. Smoke filled the air, emanating from his body as it morphed, and the smell of sulphur reached everybody’s nose. The transformation took just a few seconds, until Keldarian the red stood before everybody. His eyes, molten orbs that seemed to glow, swept over the crowd. Matthew mounted him, strapping himself in the harness specially constructed for the rider, and with a furious pumping of wings the two of them lifted off, blasting the courtyard with wind and sending dust everywhere.

Amara came out a short while later, and all of the party was extremely curious to know what had happened. She told them the basics, but was clearly thinking deeply about something. Khaska shushed them after a minute or two and they returned to the inn without pestering her too much. Amara went straight to her room.

“Wonder why she’s being so secretive?” asked Orensland.

“I told you before, seeking one’s destiny is a solitary path. Leave her be,” said Khaska.

Orensland shrugged. He went to go order some food, and the others joined him. Rynn pulled out some bowmaking materials that he had purchased the day they had run into the Maha’i preachers and began to work on it while sitting at a table. Khaska excused himself and left to go check on his armor. Orensland sat around looking bored, and Jenika pulled her feet up onto her chair and closer her eyes, meditating. After a few minutes, the rogue went to join a card game in progress. But that soon split up as well. Bored, he pulled out a coin and began flipping it through his fingers, tricks his father had taught him. Some slight-of-hand went a long way in the rogue business.

A human sitting nearby nursing an entire jug of ale started to watch him. The man had jet-black hair under his wide-brimmed hat and was sporting several days worth of beard. “Hey, you’re pretty good at that.”

“You think?” Orensland continued to flip the coin around, making it vanish from one hand, then appear in another.

The man smiled. “I do indeed. You should start performing,” and with that, the man tossed him a silver coin.

“Thank you!”

“You are welcome, Mister . . .”

“Orensland.”

“Orensland. I’m Seth Mytor.”

“Pleased to meet you Seth.” The rogue and this inn patron struck up a conversation until Seth managed to convince a waitress to come look at Orensland’s tricks. The young lady was also impressed, and suddenly Orensland wasn’t as bored anymore. He was still showing off when Khaska returned with some parchment. He sat down to write and placed his scimitar on the table in front of him.

“What’ya writing?” Orensland asked, pausing for a moment.

“With our newfound wealth,” Khaska replied, “I was able to pay for my father’s scimitar to be magically enhanced. I wished to inform him of this and to let him know how I am doing.”

Eventually the rest of the party convened in the room, and together they discussed the offer from Hartwin. Orensland and Jenika were both quick to protest. “I’ve rather enjoyed our questing together. This job sounds boring,” the rogue said.

“I think that something being boring is not how we should make our decisions,” said Jenika, “but I agree that joining up to be glorified caravan guards does not seem like a good idea at the moment. Khaska has his research to do.” She looked at Rynn. “It seems you would have the most experience with this sort of thing.”

Rynn nodded. “I’ve escorted a few caravans and traveling groups in my day, though nothing this formal. I prefer the open road and exploration myself. I feel that I would be too bound by the contract, but I will defer to you all if you so desire to join them.”

Khaska’s ears were flat against his head. “I must admit, I do not want to return to their employ so soon after leaving it, though they are fair and would treat us well.”

The group all turned to Amara, who was still lost in thought. She realized it a moment later, and snapped her attention fully back. “I must admit that I would like to stay in the city for a while. I will be going to a sorcerer to whom I may apprentice myself, and that will be a priority to me. I also feel that a binding contract would be restrictive.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rynn said. “So who wants to go break the bad news to Hartwin?”

Khaska said that he would be going there later that evening, but did not want to be the one to tell Hartwin. Nobody else volunteered, so Rynn said he would do it. Khaska was finishing wrapping his old scimitar and composing a letter to go with it. The ranger continued to work on his bow until the cleric was ready, then they left. Orensland, by then, was showing his tricks to the waitresses’ young children, who had been sitting in a corner for some time while their mother worked. Jenika was watching, intrigued by how he handled not letting the children know the “magic tricks.”

----------------------------------------

Hartwin was disappointed, but understood. He wished the two of them well, and assured Khaska that the scimitar would be delivered as requested. The elf would not accept payment.

As they left the main building, a man approached them. “So, it was you twos that killed Jonathan o’ the Wastes and his men?”

“We did not kill them,” Khaska said. “But we did bring his head. He was killed by goblins we were tracking.”

“Ah, so let the goblins do yer dirty work for ya, eh?”

“It was not our dirty work,” said Rynn.

“But you took the credit for it!” The man smiled, a grin filled with crooked yellow teeth. “That’s the spirit!” He slapped Rynn on the back and gave Khaska a handshake before disappearing back with some others who were loading things.

As they exited the Merchant House’s complex, Rynn turned to Khaska. “There was something off about that man?”

“Who, Hartwin?”

“No, the man who asked about Jonathan. Seemed he wanted something for us. He came right after us after we exited the building.”

The cleric paused. “I did not notice anything, but if you think the man was looking for something from us, then I believe you.”

The ranger pursed his lips, lost in thought. Ranna trailing him, he continued back to the inn. Rynn wondered what that man had been after them for, why he wanted to speak to them so badly.

----------------------------------------

The next few days were a bit of a blur. Amara, deciding that her negative experience with one apprentice did not mean Master Hiddel was not worth pursuing, petitioned to work with him as an apprentice. She interviewed with the sorcerer himself a few days later, when she could meet with him, and he assured her that he would get back to her in a few days time.

Rynn continued to work on his bow, and had made remarkable progress.

Jenika followed Orensland around, partially out of curiosity, partially out of boredom, and partially to keep the rogue from stealing anything. The rogue managed to buy a few more knickknacks to do his sleight of hand performances with, and kept people at the inn and in the marketplaces entertained for some money.

Khaska spent most of his time in the library at the chapterhouse, working with Sir Ing to find any records of Tawru’s time with the Knights. Sir Ing was an older fellow, who moved slowly and ponderously, but maintained a quick wit about him, his white hair falling down to his neck and his gnarled hands still swift and sure in handling the myriad volumes in the library. “Can’t swing a sword like I used to,” he said on their first real session together, “but can serve the order just as well cataloguing and ordering our records.”

The first item of business was narrowing down the search frame. Khaska did not know the exact years that Tawru would have served, but he knew that it was around the time of Hammerdine’s war with the Tlerian empire, or so the legend went. After looking at the records, the name Tawru was found rather quickly.

“Looks like he was here, my friend,” Sir Ing said, slamming down a dusty ledger. “Arrived in 52DT.563, granted status as a full Paladin immediately. This is an interesting time of the Knights to study. First, the war with Hammerdine and the Tlerians. First real time we decided to pick one nation over another, something we don’t do often. Then it was only a few years later that the Dragonriders voted to change the Code of the Good Dragons. Only time that’s ever happened. It used to be that the gold dragons were symbols of loyalty. But it was changed so that they are the symbols of honor. Not quite sure why that was the case. Refrun Skaggi was Grandmaster then, a dwarf who had served in this very chapter during the war with the Tlerians. Anyway, I do doddle on.” He smacked the side of his head. “One too many hits to the head, I’m afraid.” Khaska smiled. He liked this Sir Ing.

Their findings making their search more focused now, the two of them began to pour over the records of the time. Several things became obvious. First, Tawru had been a well-respected member of the group. Several ledgers bore his own mark on them as advancing Knights within the order, something Sir Ing said could only have come from one of the officers of the chapter. Second, the chapter head, a Likran Treewind, relied heavily on Tawru. It was Khaska that made the discovery that made him wonder if the stories of Tawru’s mistreatment while among the Knights were true. It was a certificate signed by Sir Likran Treewind and Sir Tawru Khimmak Tova Nem Rujdha, pledging their support for Hammerdine in the war against Tleros and condemning the aggression from the empire to the North. Likran was signed as the head of the chapter, and Tawru was signed as the second-in-command.

“I can see this has shaken you,” Sir Ing said, after the discovery had been made. He placed his hand on Khaska’s shoulder. “What can I do?”

The Maha’i’s voice was shaky. “What do you know of this Likran Treewind?” Khaska knew that this man was likely the one who had slain Tawru. The head of the chapter. “Was he a dragonrider?”

“No, I’m sure of that. Dragonriders are actually rarely heads of chapters. We like to keep them more mobile. But if he was chapter head, there will be more detailed records. I’ll be right back.”

Sir Ing left to go get another book. The records for the chapter heads were more meticulously kept, and he had no trouble finding the record of Sir Treewind. “It looks to me like after the war he was reassigned to a monastery on Thanor, at the edge of the Deadlands. No, not reassigned. He voluntarily gave up his post to go to the . . .” the Knight paused.

“What? What is it?”

“He wasn’t reassigned to a monastery, he went to go build one. The Tawruian monastery.” Sir Ing looked at Khaska. “It looks to me like he named it after your hero.”

Khaska frowned. “Where is this monastery?”

Sir Ing left to go find another book, returning. “It is in the hills by a city named Twilight. We abandoned it over a century ago. I know not what has become of it since then, but the records of the monastery have been transferred here. I guess because our chapter was the one that founded it. Sadly, they have never been catalogued.”

“May I see them?”

“Yes, of course.”

Sir Ing was right, there was no order to the books and scrolls from the monastery. The took up an entire bookshelf, back in a deserted corner of the library. Khaska had to be careful with the oil lamp far away from the everburning torches in the room, and eventually Sir Ing just let him have one of the magic torches, since their flames would not catch any of the dried paper records on fire.

Several days later, he came upon the personal journal of Likran Treewind. It was obvious that nobody had known what it was. A scroll had been shoved in its pages, and Khaska put the scroll down to read the leatherbound book.

It detailed much of the events that confirmed the stories that Khaska had been told of Tawru. He had been a Knight, had been mistreated by some of the order, had abandoned his post during the Hammerdian war with the Tlerian empire, and had been slain shortly after the war with the Tlerian empire had ended. Khaska was overjoyed. This was the evidence that Sir Reitman would need!

Then, as he went to shut the book, his eyes were drawn to the scroll. He picked it up and unraveled it, looking down at the signature towards the bottom. It too, had been written by Likran Treewind. He began to read.

> As I near the end of my life, I thought it would be best to put down the story that defines my legacy in my own mind, if not in the mind of the Knights. I have been living out my life here in the monastery I built near Twilight, and with each passing day I find my old bones growing more and more cold. I fear my time is short, and yet my heart is heavy as I finally commit to paper the actions that will haunt me forever. May Markus forgive me for my crimes, but I feel compelled to write this story down as a confession, if nothing else.

>

> I am Likran Treewind. Though I was born in the elven city of Dreqorun, the elven way of living was not for my tastes. Too much of my human father in me, I guess. But I digress. My joining the Knights of the Silver Dragons and rise in their ranks can be better attested by the records kept by the Knights, so I will not bore you with those details. My story here begins in 52DT.563, when the Maha’i sent me an envoy to the chapterhouse in Hammerdine. I was the head of the chapter, having established it myself and worked hard to help the fledgling city-state grow into its newfound identity. I had been assigned by Grandmaster Finnder as the chapter head, and thought his trust in me a great honor.

>

> The envoy came as quite a surprise. Normally an insular people, the Maha’i kept to themselves in the wastes, but in this case they had discovered one of their number who seemed particularly suited to the path of a Paladin and had attained the status of a folk hero among the Maha’i. I sent one of my most diplomatic Knights down to meet him, and my envoy assured me that, yes, this Tawru was definitely one who had been called on the path of a Paladin. With no support in his own people for such a calling, we offered him a place with the Knights, which he gladly accepted. I was not there, but was told he was given a grand send-off when he came to Hammerdine.

>

> Tawru was as pure-hearted a paladin as I had ever met. Humble, teachable, yet in combat he was absolutely fierce and his dedication to the Code of the Good Dragons seemed to be absolutely innate. Despite the handicap of racism which, I’m shamed to say he did encounter among our ranks, after several years I appointed him as my second in command. He worked hard to prove his worth to our chapter, and many in Hammerdine grew to love his kind way of speaking, his diplomatic tact, and his absolute resolution in the face of any evil or injustice. The fact that he was so humble during his tenure with us I think opened many doors—his example, as a strange person in a city not native to him, was a great boon to all of us, even if it was not appreciated by all.

>

> Tawru’s one vice was his desire for power. I say this not out of condemnation, for he truly was of pure heart, and we all have our weaknesses. He desired power that he might be more effective in the cause of goodness and justice. Who among the Knights has not felt that stirring in their own soul? Certainly I had. I feel it still, even in this forsaken land, surrounded by those who hate the Knights. A desire to help others see the necessity of our cause! Oh what I would not give to be able to show those here in these lands of near darkness the ways of the Good Dragons! The nobility that comes from self-sacrifice! The kind of society that can come when good people work together! But, alas, I am here of my own will, and I fear that, despite my best efforts, the people in the neighboring towns think me nothing by an old doddering half-elf, weakened by age, unable to let go of the past. The monastery is in disrepair now. I alone tend the garden, wishing that things could be different. The Knights send me occasional brethren to keep me company, but they always request a transfer.

>

> Tawru was no different than any of us. I fear his downfall, ultimately was my fault. I recommended him, several times, to replace the aging dragon riders as opportunity arose, but one was never sent to even meet the Maha’i to discuss the possibility. I think this may have rankled him, but I, in my blindness, did not notice at the time.

>

> Hammerdine had grown over the years into a thriving metropolis, but its government was originally anything but stable. A king one year, a noble council the next, a warlord the next. The Knights tried to remain above it all, but eventually, when the current warlord, a good man who ruled because he felt nobody else could, proposed a constitution, a set of laws to be voted on and codified by all citizens of Hammerdine, Tawru and I both felt it appropriate to throw the weight of our influence behind it. The debates raged long and hard for several months, but eventually the constitution was approved by enough in the city that it became law, permanently enshrined. The last act of General Grishek was to step down to the ruling council that was democratically elected. Seven officials now stood at the head of the city-state, and it looked like the troubles of Hammerdine were over. Tawru and I, as well as the other Knights, were elated.

>

> However, the Tlerian empire to the North saw that Hammerdine had stabilized. Hammerdine had never exactly been a threat before, but with trade booming, with no more infighting, with resources now going toward growth and education and city projects, and with no more military to speak of, the city was ripe for the plucking. To everybody’s dismay, the Tlerians organized their military might and marched on the city.

>

> The Council of Seven asked for the Knights to intervene. Bound by the decision of the Grandmaster, we could not fight, though between both us and our sister chapter in Sethrayin we tried in vain to prevent the war. However, the Tlerians did not want our meddling, and the chapter in Sethrayin was exiled from the city. We did offer what assistance we could in training and organization, but we could not interfere directly. It was by the grace of Markus that the first attack was repelled. The Hammerdine military was hastily organized, but General Grishek, called out of retirement, was able to rally the troops to defend the city. A public works project of a city wall had been finished well before this time, and the defense was able to achieve a victory, if a pyrrhic one. Thus began the war between the Tlerian Empire and the city-state of Hammerdine.

>

> It waged for several years, despite our attempts to stop it. Eventually my cries to the Grandmaster were heard and we were allowed to fight. It took many letters, visits, and ambassadors to convince the Grandmaster that siding with Hammerdine was the right thing to do, but the democracy that had taken hold seemed very much in keeping with the virtues of the Good Dragons, and eventually that won out. I am sure the fact that the Tlerians had disbanded the chapter in Sethrayin also was a contributing factor. The Knights officially threw their military might behind the Hammerdine forces, and the tide turned.

>

> Tawru was instrumental in helping all of this to happen. He was the one who most frequently wrote to the Grandmaster, and even went so far as to visit the Fortress of Eternal Vigilance in person several times. Despite his personal feelings about the conflict and his adopted home, he always obeyed the Code of the Good Dragons and followed loyally, as the Golden Dragons would have, all orders from his superiors.

>

> It was as we were forcing back the Tlerian armies into their own borders, a long, involved process, that he first received word of what was happening to his people. Orc raiders, allying with pirates, had invaded and captured several Maha’i tribes, and were selling them into slavery. This, of course, pained Tawru greatly, and he asked to be given leave to help his people with a contingent of Knights.

>

> I, in my selfishness, did not want him to go. I assured him that helping Hammerdine was the right thing, and that after the war we would go help his people. I was not deaf to his pleas, nor ignorant of the plight of the poor Maha’i, but we were stretched thin as it was, and I felt we could not spare the manpower. Nor could I lose my second-in-command. I forbade him from going.

>

> But he left. I awoke one morning to find his tent empty, and his personal assistant gone as well, a young acolyte of the Knights. Grieved as I was, I appointed another as my second-in-command, a stalwart Dwarf who had come to aid Hammerdine from his chapter in Tir’Kon, Refrun Skaggi, and continued to wage war. I also sent a letter to the Grandmaster informing him of the situation.

>

> I will regret that letter until the day I die, though the reasons did not become clear for many months.

>

> Eventually we achieved a great victory over the Tlerians, effectively shattering their mightiest army, and ending the war in one fell swoop. It cost us dearly, but they were routed and sent back to their empire. I hear the empire has fallen on hard times since that day, but I stand by the decision of the Knights to side with the democratic Hammerdine against the imperialistic Tlerians. Hammerdine recovered faster than I thought, and I think will be the dominant force on Gallidus for many centuries to come. However, that thought, as good as it will be for many people living in that city and its surrounding areas, does not make up for the aching hole in my heart because of what happened next.

>

> It was then that I heard that Tawru had been successful beyond hope in his attempt to stop the slave trade. He had instituted an uprising in the slave trade city of Clefthaven, freeing thousands of slaves and driving the pirates back to the ocean to the east. Hearing this news warmed my heart, and I took a journey with one acolyte from the order to meet him. Hammerdine insisted on sending a few troops to guard us, and I allowed them their honor at escorting those who had helped their city win the war.

>

> I came upon Tawru on his way back from the Maha’i capital of Jevereshk. He had successfully negotiated for the return of the slaves. He was traveling with a number of former Maha’i slaves and some troops from the queen of Jevereshk. I had set up a tent and waited for him, sending my acolyte ahead to request an audience and ordering my troops back. I wanted this to be a personal meeting, with no outside interference. He also ordered his troops to wait behind as he and the acolyte came to the tent. Tawru was content to let the boy stay.

>

> I noticed that he had new scars from his battles, and one of his horns had been broken off. We talked about our successes, and the war’s ending, and I invited him to come back to the chapter in Hammerdine, where he would be received back. All was forgiven. In retrospect, should have observed how he stared at the ground, how he answered this part of my excitement with non-committal phrases. How his assistant was no longer with him.

>

> My assistant noticed it. I should have. This dear boy, only a year or two with the order, so pleased to be with the chapter head on a mission to reunite one of ours with Knights, simply asked what was wrong. Then this simple lad, a farmboy from an outlying city by Hammerdine, stood up, his face in shock, horror crowding his features.

>

> “What are you?” he shouted.

>

> I stood up, aghast at his manners, ready to rebuke him, then noticed the fear as he backed hurriedly up. The boy ran up against the side of the tent, trying desperately to get away.

>

> I turned back to Tawru, and it was then that I saw what I had missed before. He was standing erect, his hand on his scimitar, a fire in his eyes I had never seen.

>

> “Cast Detect Evil!” the boy practically screamed. “Cast Detect Evil!” Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it was too easy. Just a slip of the mind. I cast the spell. Just for a moment, I doubted my friend, Tawru. A moment was all it took.

>

> The power of evil emanating from him was overwhelming. It made me nauseous. I dropped to my knees.

>

> “I don’t think I will be welcomed back to the chapter,” he said quietly.

>

> I was sick on the floor of the tent, and I rose, shakily, my knees trembling. I asked what had happened to him.

>

> My friend’s eyes dropped to the floor. He was deeply ashamed. “I was excommunicated. Did you not know?”

>

> I demanded to know who had done this. But I knew. The charter of the knights was clear—excommunication could only be done by the chapter head of the knight or the Grandmaster. It wasn’t me. The Grandmaster had excommunicated him, had stripped him of his paladin abilities and powers because of my letter.

>

> The first thought, the first thing that came into my head, I blurted out. “Are you a blackguard?”

>

> He drew his scimitar, and nodded. “I couldn’t do anything. Stripped of my powers, I was helpless. All I had was my good swordarm. So I called on the dark forces to grant me renewed powers. And I was answered. And I used them! I freed the slaves! I did good with the powers of darkness.”

>

> “But now you’re in thrall with them!” my companion shouted. He drew his sword and lunged, but Tawru was the more skilled warrior and opponent. A single blow from the blackguard’s scimitar drove into the boy’s unarmored chest. He died instantly.

>

> I will not bore you with the details of what happened next, but I met Tawru, my friend, my companion, my ally, in battle. It was a hard fought contest, both of us calling on Markus for aid. In the end, I was victorious.

>

> As my friend lay dying, I held him in my arms, his lifeblood pouring from the gaping hole in his chest where my sword had penetrated him. I apologized for my actions, and swore I would give him an honorable burial. He forbade me, saying that the Maha’i must never know what he had done. Ashamed of what I had done, and the actions my hand had forced, I swore that I would not reveal what he had done to obtain his powers to the Maha’i. As he died, he handed me his scimitar, Kvanir Addhineen Vazhdu Avd’Urziana, asking that it be used to continue the work of the Knights, and I swore that it would. If have used Kvanir as my personal weapon ever since.

>

> I left him in the tent, thinking that his troops would collect the body and do him the reverence he deserved. However, in my shock at the events that had just unfolded, I forgot that the overzealous commander of my little troop contingent was exceptionally patriotic. As I rode my horse through his troops, I didn’t speak of what happened. I just continued on through the group, and rode back to Hammerdine.

>

> Upon my return to Hammerdine, I fell into a stupor. It was only after I could be roused from my grief that Refrun informed me that the Hammerdine soldiers had taken Tawru’s body and displayed it for all to see, a warning of those who would betray Hammerdine. This made me more heartsick, but before I could march to the walls and retrieve the body myself, Refrun informed me that someone had already retrieved the body. Over the next few weeks we were able to gather information that Tawru’s children had taken the body back and slain several guards. Hammerdine officials, flush with their success over the Tlerian empire were about to launch an attack on the Maha’i, calling those actions an act of war. However, Refrun and I both informed them in no uncertain terms that if they became the aggressors, the Knights would fight them as they had the Tlerians. The war against the Maha’i ended before it even began, and to their credit, the Hammerdine council reigned in the military leaders quickly from such overzealous militancy.

>

> All of these events drove me into a deep depression. Refrun was forced more and more to take over the day to day operations of the chapter, until finally, he was able to coax the full story out of me. Oh how I wished to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of Tawru, but that would not be possible. As I told the story, I made Refrun swear the same oath I had sworn to Tawru, and to the best of my knowledge, even as Grandmaster of the Knights, he has kept that oath.

>

> I take some small comfort in that, as Grandmaster, Refrun has changed the Code of the Good Dragons before he even became a Dragonrider. He petitioned for the change before taking the dragon orb of Khalisara the black to himself. The golden dragons are now the symbol of honor, not loyalty. We both feel that this is the right change, and it was approved by the council of the Knights. Never again will we excommunicate one who follows his heart.

>

> I know not what the future holds for the Knights and the Maha’i. As I live out my shame in this old monastery, I hope I have atoned enough for my misdeeds. I had the best intentions, but sometimes that is not enough. I write my story so that others may know it and know of my folly, and the folly of the Knights. We ever serve the people of Jenoa, but we do not do so perfectly. I pray to Markus and all the honorable and noble deities that my misdeeds will be forgiven as I pass from this life.

>

> Tawru, in the end, dedicated his life to serving others. I cannot condone his path to power, but he only did it in the service of those less fortunate than him. I do not know what price he paid, or what offering he made to the dark forces. As it is my fault, I have lived the remainder of my life here, in the hills by Twilight, trying to be an example to those around me. I pray it is enough, even while I fear it is not.

>

> My misdeeds weigh heavily on my heart. I share this tale in the hopes that, someday, it might serve some greater purpose. I feel it is necessary that it be told among the Knights, if nobody else, even though only Refrun and I know of it now. I commit it to paper and will place it in my journal library. The Code demands that we tell the truth, and though I have been forbidden to tell any Maha’i, writing this story down is my way of confessing my sins before I die.

>

> Markus, forgive me.

>

> Tawru, forgive me.

>

> Likran Treewind. Order of the Silver Dragons. Tawruian Monastery. 52DT.762.