Part II

The New Lord

Autumn wore on, and with the changing of the seasons a new presence in the land was felt. Something was stirring in the fires of Mount Sirus, for over the howling winds of the Isil Forest and the rustling of the fallen leaves, a broken voice was heard, ranting and raving. It was deep, ferocious, and, like the fires of the mountain, it was constant. The people of the land stood outside their homes at night, and listened to the unclear chatter. Frightened and confused, they could not make anything out of its long tirade. This behavior quickly became part of everyday life, a routine, such as eating or sleeping. It continued for countless weeks, until one night, when Ryan was working in the fields of the Bella Crescent.

He was harvesting the crops, and had gathered in his arms a large bundle of corn. Suddenly, the raving voice cried out, and the corn dropped to the ground as Ryan fell onto his back. It was an angry, deafening cry, and when it passed, Ryan had to wait a moment for his hearing to return. He rose to his feet, and peaked at the tip of Mount Sirus. When his sudden discomfort passed, he could see the fires of the mountain blazing from the caverns as lava pours from of a volcano. There came a soft rumble resonating throughout the land, and the territories surrounding Ilrom quaked for a few moments. When the tremors ceased, a black cloud, like that of smoke, started out of the tip of the mountain, partially eclipsing the golden flames. Ryan was dazed, and as he surveyed the movement of the cloud, he was overcome, and wrought with fear.

The cloud grew larger as if it were the smoke of a raging fire, blocking out all of the light in the sky, and blackening the night. It enveloped the sky, and grew with each passing moment. Ryan merely stood and watched, motionless, and the fear in him was spreading to his fingertips, numbing his nerves.

He sensed this was no ordinary cloud, and when it drew closer, from within it, Ryan saw in his already overwhelming astonishment, small bursts of fire, puffing through as human breath on a chilly morning. Hundreds of these small explosions engulfed the black cloud, which filled the sky.

The cloud drew closer, and suddenly Ryan began to hear a rumbling crescendo of noise. Terrible cries, like that of a thousand hawks. They were awful, terrifying, screams, waking everyone from Mount Pire to Oakton.

Ryan suddenly held his breath, for he had caught sight of a figure, in the cloud, swooping and gliding like a bird.

'What is that?' He asked himself. 'No! Oh, no! Dragons! In mass! Hundreds!' Ryan, suddenly, was too frightened to think, instinct took hold of him, and he raced through the fields toward the main house. "Dragons!" He shrieked, and when he emerged out of the fields in front of the house, Pyaren burst out the door.

"Dragons!" Ryan shrieked again. The screams were now so close, they were deafening.

"I know! We must get out of here!" Yelled Pyaren as he raced towards Ryan. "We shall head that way." Pyaren was pointing to the southeast. "We must get to Isilius, for it is abandoned, and there should be no dragons there."

"What if we don't make it before the dragons cross our path, here?"

Pyaren opened his robe and around his belt, Ryan could see two sheaths, and protruding from each was a long hilt, bound in leather. He took hold of one and pulled it out, unveiling a long, glistening blade, forged from smooth, clean silver. He handed the sword to Ryan. "Take this," he said. "And never remove your hand from it, for once it's lost, you'll have to wield whatever you can find on the earth."

Ryan had held a sword only once before, but that had been years ago, and he knew not how to wield it properly. He pointed it straight in front of him as he and Pyaren crept through the eastern fields of the Bella Crescent, to the bridge over the Tulsa River.

The screams were suddenly so near that Pyaren grabbed Ryan by the arm and sharply whispered, "Freeze!" They did so, hoping not to give away their location.

The crying came from above, but they could not yet see its source. Until, happening so fast it startled Ryan, a swarm of fifteen dragons, flew straight over them, and passed towards the farmhouses. Fire blew out of their nostrils, and with every cry, a ball of flame shot out of their mouths. Ryan had a clear glance of one when it passed over him. It was ten feet in length, and from the tip of one wing to the other, it was a span of twenty feet. It had jet-black skin, with little of the emerald green spoken about in the ancient scrolls. It wore a dark gray chest with black scales camouflaged into its skin, and a snarl capable of instilling fright into an entire army of men. When they passed, Ryan and Pyaren waited for few more moments, and when it appeared no more were coming, they continued on.

Finally, they came to the clearing, and cautiously crossed the bridge, over the ever-flowing Tulsa River. When they reached the highest point of the bridge, Pyaren turned back and pointed to their home at the sound of the dragons' screaming. Ryan turned, and what he saw forced him to cover his mouth to keep from crying out. They both stared for several minutes, for their farm and their home were ablaze. The flames rose to the sky, and the wood of the houses was incinerated, leaving a trail of black smoke.

Suddenly, they heard another cry. It came from the East, and was drawing nearer. Without hesitation, they ran into the shadows of the Isil Forest to hide. Minutes later, a second group of dragons flew overhead; southwest, in the direction of Sarod.

"Keep moving," Ordered Pyaren. "They have not come for us."

As they moved south through the forest, Ryan began to wonder how Pyaren seemed so well prepared for this day, for while Ryan was hysterically screaming "dragons", Pyaren had already armed himself and knew exactly where they must go to be safe. So much knowledge he possessed, though he lived on a farm his whole life; with only his father up to his death, and his wife and son.

They crawled under the branches in the shadows of the fire-lit night, and hopped over tree stumps, landing on their toes to buffer the sound. When they came to the edge of the forest, Pyaren studied their surroundings, making sure there was no danger.

"There is Isilius!" Whispered Pyaren. "Or rather, there it was." He was pointing to the ruins of the old city, which now was only a temple, and a few wrecked houses in a great pasture. "It had once been a thriving city with tall, stone towers," he said smiling with awe, "and hard copper gates. The council of Wizards had ruled over it, but that was ages ago, and it has long since been forgotten." His eyes then narrowed, and he scowled. "Now it is nothing." He said. "But a scorched, barren wasteland." Then he put aside his rage. "We must cross it to get to the mountains, and we will be in the open for a few minutes, so be cautious."

Ryan was confused. "Why do we head for the mountains?"

"The cavern I told you about, where the Eretuf lies, it is in those mountains. There we can delve back into the ancient scrolls and find the dark shadow of Mount Sirus. Then, we may read a great deal about it, and hopefully learn how to bring it to its destruction. But more importantly right now, it is there we may find shelter, and hide from the dragons." Ryan nodded, and he was again dumbfounded by Pyaren's leadership.

They began half-running through the short grass, making sure as not to make too much noise. They were making their way across quite speedily, until suddenly- a great, golden, flaming fireball struck the ground, narrowly missing Ryan.

"Watch out!" Screamed Pyaren.

Ryan dropped to the ground and rolled, and the claw sunk deep into the earth, just missing flesh. But the silhouette now hung over Ryan, and breathed into his face. It bent over to him so Ryan saw into its eyes, but was suddenly struck on the side of the head by a large stone. Its head turned to face the challenger. Pyaren appeared the darkest Ryan had ever seen him; so dark, he looked a worthy opponent to the dragon. His eyes were hidden in shadow, leaving to Ryan's imagination the pain and vengeance that occupied them; the rage that could not be seen, but only heard in his powerful voice.

"Desist!" Beamed Pyaren in a demanding tone. "Go back to the black abyss from which you came!"

Terrified, Ryan screamed, and in one swift motion, he drew up his sword and slashed the dragon across the chest. It rocked back, the crimson blood spewing out of the wound, and squealed to the sky. But only a moment later, it lunged forward, back into Ryan's face, and it snapped at him. But as it opened its mouth to tear Ryan in half, it instead ate a long silver blade sent through the air by the hand of Pyaren. And the creature was silenced, collapsing next to Ryan.

Repulsed, Ryan scurried away from the body. Pyaren went over to the dragon, took back his weapon from its terrible throat, and wiped the blood off, onto his robe. He reached for Ryan with an outstretched hand. "Come. We are still in the open, and where one goes, more will follow. We must make it to the mountains." Dazed, Ryan staggered forward with his sword dangling from his fingers, and stared at the ground as it passed under his feet.

Suddenly, they heard the voice again; the ferocious, raving, tyrant. It came still from Mount Sirus, but this time it was closer, and unbroken. They heard its commands clearly, but still could not understand a word it spoke, for it was some other language. Confused and disappointed, they were forced to ignore it.

Finally, they came to the foot of the Isil Mountains.

-----