A Newly Founded Champion
"So you say that the Farrellian clan have already perished under the attack, Azhar?"
It was a warm midsummer evening. The stars were jewels, set into the dark veil of the night sky. The moon pierced the gloomy darkness with her bright sword, lighting up the green, green meadows below. The river, running as clear as the sky, trickled calmly down a small hill. In the midst of this dazzling panorama, two dark figures were strolling about, side by side. One figure was a full head-and-neck taller than the other.
"Yes, Zelig, and the demons… they slew everyone and destroyed everything. None was left alive, or so I heard," replied the latter.
"What happened to the others, the other kingdoms?"
"Destruction befell upon them all."
"So I guess our fortress is the only one left standing."
"Yes, and so it has come to this."
A cool, silent breeze stirred up in the serene haven. Not far from the meadows, a colossal mountain arose, and carved into the crag was an immense, towering castle: the Stronghold of Briglotir. Its battlements were scarred with the dozens of battles it had endured. Its twenty guard towers loomed over the walls, vacant and melancholy. The two figures were now headed in the direction of the citadel.
"What of Horus, the gatekeeper? Is he well?"
"Not quite. After being fatally wounded by a black demon arrow in the massive attack on our stronghold two weeks before, I'd say he would have to rest a few more days before he can fully recover."
They had reached the main gate of the large fortress, and knocked on the gate. A figure appeared on the top, and cried out in a deep, reverberating voice:
"Who is there?"
"Tis Azhar, Tariq," the taller replied.
"Come in! Come in! What are you doing at this time of day?"
The gate opened, and light passing through the gate had revealed two stunning dragons. Another dragon appeared from behind the threshold, and embraced both.
"We had taken a short walk around the land. What are you doing here, may I ask?" questioned Azhar.
"Awaiting your arrival, of course."
"Tis late, we should all catch some sleep," interrupted Zelig.
"Zelig is right, we should go," agreed Azhar.
Morning came almost too fast. The sun shone brightly through the window of the gatehouse where Zelig, Azhar and Tariq slept. The birds have already begun their squawking and chirping. The cool, damp air was ecstasy, and nature's music was even better.
The gatehouse was a tall tower-like building. It was wrought of stone like the walls surrounding the mountain. On the ground floor, there was nothing save for a flight of stairs that wound upwards for many stories until it reached a small room at the peak. The room had four windows, each facing in the four main directions: north, south, east, and west. There was an oversized cabinet in a corner of the room, a desk in another corner, and a telescope facing the north. In this room the three dragons slept, snoring on straw beds laid out on the previous night.
There was a sound, a disturbance in the tranquility. Zelig stirred and awakened to find Azhar gazing out the window in a reverie, and joined him. Azhar turned around, unsurprised.
"Daydreaming again?" asked Zelig.
"Hmmm? Just enjoying the view."
"No you're not. You've known this country for your whole life: every blade of grass, every drop of water in the rivers, every tree in the forests. I have been with you most of my days, and you've never stopped once to enjoy anything.
"Fine. After the extinction of the other dragon clans, I think I'd have to keep a good eye on the outskirts of this land."
"Come, let's get to the watchtower, then. And we should be there right now; it's our time for guarding the walls."
"Yes, let's go," said Azhar, and they stepped over the still-sleeping Tariq, and ascended the stairs.
The city was filled with commotion: young dragons here and there playing their little games, adults wandering around the large marketplace haggling with merchants for peculiar items, the merchants, themselves, straining to keep the prices at a reasonable price. This part of the castle was at sea level, and towards the center, the ground sloped upwards radically. At this height were the massive clusters of caves for the homes of the dragons. And still, standing at the crest of the mountain, the center of the giant city was the palace – or The Dome, as many had called it. It was a marvelous marble-stone rotunda that complemented the entire castle. King Briglotir, who resided in the palace, was the ruler of the city, and he had ruled well, for making the stronghold to withstand so many battles took great skill and leadership.
The gate opened for Azhar and Zelig, and the two went out of the walls, headed for one of the watchtowers. It was a warm day, calm and serene. The sun shone brightly in the sky.
It was Zelig who saw it coming. In the distance, a small black speck appeared and then expanded. In a second, the mass covered a remote hill like a swarm of ants. Zelig turned to his companion. Azhar saw it too.
"Demons!" he cried, and in a moment he rose to the air, let out a deafening trumpet sound, and screamed at the top of his lungs:
"Alert! Alert! Invaders!"
The villagers back in the city heard the call. Almost immediately, there was panic and confusion in the air. By this time, the north was almost completely covered with black with the forms of the horrible creatures.
But the city was ready A large defensive force was gathered in time, and was quickly moved out to the grounds. Azhar and Zelig were armed too.
"This was truly coincidental; if we failed to notice it for some few more seconds, we would surely perish. Good job, Zelig," stated Azhar.
And the battle began. The two sides crashed and fought brutally. The courageous dragons fought bravely, and returned claw for claw, bite for bite. The battle was to be a fierce one. In the center of the battle, Azhar and Zelig were also fighting.
The battle continued on, and the warriors held their ground. Bodies were strewn across the battleground. Zelig killed mercilessly. Azhar mauled down some demons. But suddenly, Azhar uttered a tiny moan and fell, with an arrow protruding from his chest. Zelig stared in horror at his companion, and rushed to his aid.
"Azhar! Are you all right? Speak!" he cried.
He heard but a faint whisper, and moved himself closer to Azhar, but Azhar already closed his eyes and his breath expired.
"You will be alright Azhar," said Zelig, tears welling in his eyes, "We'll get you to a safe place. But for right now, rest here till the battle ends."
With that said, Zelig turned, and with renewed energy, struck out at the enemy. He fought like never before, slaying enemies in mass numbers.
Of the war from then on, nothing more was known. All that was identified was that the dragons had won a great victory over the demons. Zelig survived the battle, though with many mortal wounds. Azhar was given a proper burial after the war. In the years that followed, peace was once again restored to the land, and its inhabitants were once again safe inside the walls of the Stronghold.