A/N: Hello, everybody! :D I am so, so sorry for the lateness of this update- honestly, time just flew by and then writer's block pounced, and then school decided to restart. But it's okay, because eventually I caught the writing bug again and voila!
And also THANK YOU, YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favourited, followed and so much as read the first chapter. :) It made me so happy to see, and if I could I'd just repeat 'thank you' over and over until my fingers fell off. So, you lovely, beautiful people deserve so much more than anything I could give you, and that goes to everyone.
On other news, I've started the book Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children. It's absolutely glorious. :D
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
Darkness clawed at his vision when he awoke, and instinctively he let out a whisper of "Leoht."
The light which was expected to come was nowhere to be found.
"It won't work." A voice to his side spoke, and Balinor quickly turned his head to find it's owner, panicked at who might be with him. Please not Uther, he begged silently. But in the dark he could hardly see anything, and he wondered why there was no light. What if he was in a dungeon again? Balinor's heart skipped a beat, and he had the sudden urge to cry. No, he scolded himself. You have shed more than enough tears.
Suddenly a light flared- it was certainly not his. Against the darkness it was as bright as the sun, dazzling him and blinding him. It was fire, he realised. Bright, burning, evil, beautiful fire. It stared at him, mocked him, challenging the Dragonlord to face it as it grew with every passing second. Balinor flinched and looked away, fear once again creeping into his heart and he cried out as he braced himself for the agony which his kin had experienced from the flames-
A single candle twinkled innocently, trying in vain to illuminate the gloom.
Coward, a voice in his head growled. A Dragonlord- scared of a single flame! You look at it and see your friends and family dying- how pathetic. Balinor closed his eyes and breathed in.
He breathed out.
He looked looked around. He was lying, slumped, in a small cave, with tree roots clutching at the walls and spiders scuttling along the stone ceiling. A clump of scraggly bushes hid the entrance and shards of moonlight so faint they were nearly invisible filtered in.
He glanced around again, and his eyes drifted to the person who had spoken. Although the flickering shadows stole much of the man's features, he looked exhausted and grey rings circled the man's green eyes, and his hazel hair was long and matted. Balinor doubted he looked much better.
"Why not?" The Dragonlord asked, demanding to know the answer to the stranger's statement, even though his heart hammered in his chest and his voice rasped barely above a whisper. "Why won't my magic work?"
"I apologise for the light- or lack of." The man murmured, seeming to turn a deaf ear on Balinor's question. His voice was light and gentle, the exact opposite of his rough appearance. "Knights are patrolling these woods, and any sign of people will immediately be taken as a threat. The candle is the best I can do without us being seen."
Balinor refused look at the candle, instead keeping his gaze fixated on the stranger before him. He did not notice that there was no tallow to keep the flame lit.
"Why won't my magic work?" The Dragonlord repeated, strongly this time, through gritted teeth.
"The effects of the Drakhorn still linger, Balinor-"
"-How do you know my name? How do you know about- about that?" Balinor shuddered as he heard the word, his hand reaching out to find a stone. A weapon was a weapon, after all.
"I can feel it." The stranger replied simply. "The sound of Drakhorn surrounds you, it smothers you. It is a Dragonlord's most potent weakness, and few Dragonlords who have heard it's call ever return with everything intact. Your loss of magic is only temporary, and only a minor grievance compared with some others have faced. You must be incredibly strong."
"Who are you?" Balinor asked warily, not trusting this stranger who knew so much. How did he know so much? Honestly, he was as vague as Kilgharrah-
- Kilgharrah's dead. He died because you weren't strong enough, were too naïve. He's dead, Balinor, they're all dead! Do you remember their screams? The smell of their burning flesh? The way their bones cracked and blistered under the heat? What about the dragons, as well? Surely you remember them. Remember the horror in their gaze as you commanded them to set themselves alight- you! The whimpers the hatchlings made as their own mothers turned on them and the way-
Balinor's fingers touched a rock- it was large enough to knock a person unconscious if it hit the right place with enough force. His hand tightened it's grip on it and he shook himself, awaiting his captor's answer. Be quiet, he cried in his head. Please!
There was a pause as the man hesitated. Finally he spoke:
"My name is Nerian, from Hamweard. I was a healer there, until Uther's knights came and destroyed our town." His words became frigid. "I lost everything to him: my wife, my home, my son…'
Nerian's voice trailed off, his tone tinged with sadness, but Balinor did not feel the sympathy he usually would have, and nodded for Nerian to continue.
"I don't harbour the same hatred for Uther as many sorcerers do. What can I, a simple healer do against an army?" Nerian laughed bitterly. "No, I don't hate Uther. He has been consumed by his fury, and I refuse to follow his path. I am more angry at myself than anyone else- but aren't we all?" He gave Balinor a look.
"One day the rumours reached me that Uther had found the Drakhorn, the death horn, and I knew his purpose. The Drakhorn had been lost for centuries: not even the High Priestesses knew of it's whereabouts, as the legend goes, so how he found it is beyond me. So I stayed here, and I waited until morning. You, they said, had yet to be killed so I made it my plan to rescue you.
"Of course by the time I arrived at Camelot you had somehow escaped and were loose in the forest- no, sorry- that came out wrong." Nerian took a breath. "But to continue: I found you just before the knights and carried you here. I then healed your bruises and cuts, and sent you to sleep."
"Prove it." Balinor's harsh tone surprised even himself. Lies and trickery, he scowled as Uther came to his mind. Men hid behind masks of lies and trickery.
"Look at yourself." Nerian urged in exasperation. "Look at the candle."
Balinor grimaced and, slowly, painfully, turned his eyes to the flickering light. A bark of surprise escaped his mouth as he saw it floating cheerily in the air.
"I believe you," Balinor murmured- quickly looking away from the fire. The memories were too raw, too guilt-ridden to see.
"I'm glad," Nerian smiled sincerely. "I promise that I mean you no harm. But, please, how did you escape?"
Balinor spoke in a clipped tone, clearly not comfortable with talking about the subject. "Gaius came after- after.. At dawn, when everyone was still asleep. He gave me a key for the back exit and told me to go to- well, a place where Uther wouldn't look. He told me he was sorry, and he wished me well. So I ran and ran and I don't know how- Gaius said that he'd drugged the guards- but I made it to the forest and then the alarm bells sounded. They were so loud. But I kept running and I heard screaming and hoofbeats and I thought I was going mad. Then I can't remember.." The Dragonlord's voice trailed off. "I owe that man my life-" he whispered brokenly. "I owe you my life as well, it seems."
"Yes, and I hope I will be repayed," the healer teased light-heartedly, chuckling at Balinor's hurried assurance that, yes, of course he would.
The two lapsed into a strange silence- an odd mix of distrust and relief, of insecurity and comfort, and Nerian smiled slightly to himself in the dim light. Here they were, he thought amusedly, two fugitives torn in half and lying in pieces, both of them weary and scared, on the doorstep of the Devil.
A/N:
Tallow- Tallow was used for many things, one of them being a cheaper type of candle wax commonly used by peasants, made from animal fat. Source: Wiki
Hamweard - In my headcanon, the sorcerer named Nerian comes from here before it was destroyed by Uther in the Great Purge. Literally means 'home' in Old English. Source: (Annoyingly, I lost it. :/)
My headcanon
Drakhorn - once sounded,the user of the horn has the power to control a Dragonlord. It was originally created to keep the Dragonlords in check incase they were to 'cross into the dark side'. More of it's past will later be revealed.. Maybe.. Entirely created by me (as you can tell by the inventive name :P).
Dun dun dunn... No? Did I cheapen the moment? Anyway. If you'd like, drop a review or favourite/follow if you haven't already. I'd greatly appreciate it! n_n
So, see you next time, and I will try to shorten the gap... -the responsibility! O_o
Is anyone else thinking about what they're going to wear for Halloween? Is anyone else dressing up? :)
Thank you, again, and I hope you've had a fantastic September and that October will be just as brilliant.
TBC
-VellichorNovelist