A Caller From the Void

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. In fact, the last time Rikart laid eyes on the Valley of Life, it had been a barren wasteland. The ancient riverbed had been void of nature’s vital liquid since anyone could remember. The sandy foothills between the sheer mountain sides were shrouded in dark legend claiming that the only living things to survive its passage were drowned in a mindless madness. Their memories blasted into oblivion by the Valley, legend claimed that only those who ventured into the desolate region learned its true name, and they paid for that knowledge with their sanity. Thus, it had been called Nameless. However, that had been over a century ago, when Rikart was still a young man, long before undergoing the immortalizing trials of the Order of the Paladins. Then, he had staggered through the Valley himself. While the memories of that journey were blurred by time, he could recall that the only mentally draining forces he had encountered were the miles empty of food and water.

That was before Tillatha, the “Dragon of Vitality,” “Bringer of Life,” and, to her worshippers, “Mother Nature” had come to bless the wastes with her power. Now, as he sat upon his horse, standing atop the tall steppes sealing one end of the Valley, Rikart’s agelessly youthful eyes gazed upon an unrecognizable landscape of green brightened by the rich colors of blossoming flowers. Not far to his right, the River of Gifts cascaded down the steppes to feed the life of the Valley, fulfilling the will of Tillatha. Through the thick boughs of leaf-laden and vine covered trees, the corners of worked, angled stone hinted at the flourishing city hidden beneath the thriving vegetation. A gentle breeze rustled leaf and petal, brining the Valley to life.

“Death,” The whisper was faint, but its speaker was so close, Rikart felt their breath tickle his ear. With a start, he turned towards the whisperer, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword as he did so.

At first, he saw nothing but creaking branches and twirling leaves. As he continued to stare, Rikart felt he was seeing something, a shape in the shadows of the trees. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus and distinguish the form of the shade. Suddenly, he thought he caught a glimpse of a hooded figure watching him in the shadow of the woods.

“Careful, Nib, the trees might bite,” a mocking voice called from behind him. He turned as three of his fellow Paladins, Raul, Juliana, and Dalin trotted past on their steeds, smirking.

Rikart glared back at Raul, the mocker, and removed his hand from the hilt of his sword. He glanced back at the cloaked figure, finding nothing. He turned forward as the commander of their detachment, Stigand Odalvin passed without a word, his stern features and bulky plate armor visually reinforcing the stony silence with which he regarded Rikart.

Rikart was used to this treatment. After over ninety years as a Paladin, the insults and attitudes of many of the paladins in the Order had thoroughly thickened his skin. He was treated thus to due a unique outcome of the immortalizing process of the Paladin. As the magic infused the blood of prospective paladins, it granted them immortality, enhanced their senses, and, above all, granted them magical powers. While they were not as powerful as the studious and dedicated mages, the Paladins could cast spells from any of the magical disciplines, and often were individually gifted with a particularly powerful focus.

All accept Rikart of course. The infusion of magic within him granted him an ageless youth, and strengthened his sense, enhancing his already significant martial prowess. However, he never gained any ability to command the magical ether, and for that earned the scorn of many of his comrades. A rumor claimed he had been cursed by Nibborl, the god of the magical ether. From this sprang the slur “Nib,” unique to him alone. The insults and names lost their sting long ago, but it was the treatment of others, such as Odalvin, which really got under his skin. It was when these paladins acted like he did not exist that Elora would have to lay a gentle hand on his arm, and whisper to him to not heed their arrogance.

“At least we’re here now,” Thenry, his armor clanking in time with the steps of his horse came alongside Rikart. “Just a few more days to investigate the villagers’ complaints and a journey home and then you’ll be free of them.”

Rikart turned to look at his friend. Thenry smiled sympathetically, his golden paladin plate armor gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Rikart returned the smile, “It’s all right, Raul will just be forever jealous that Elora chose me over him.” The two paladins chuckled forcefully. They new Rikart’s statement was half true, and the treatment the other paladins had given him on this mission was unacceptable. Turning forward in their saddles, they pushed their horses into a trot to catch up to the others.

Alongside them marched the 300 soldiers and support personnel making up their entourage. While the paladins commanded this force, its warriors were specifically from Odalvin’s House of the Flame. They were adorned in red tunics and carried red and gold banners of the House’s colors, matching the deep red of Odalvin’s cape and its clasp of golden flame. This number of soldiers had been more for protection on the road to and from the Valley, rather than in anticipation of any danger the mission might produce.

The company marched down the road crisscrossing the sheer steppes in a series of switch backs. On each step, they crossed sturdy but aging wooden bridges over the river flowing down into the Valley. The furthest drop fell from the final steppe to the valley floor. Here, the river cascaded in a magnificent waterfall into a large pool before flowing out into the valley. The road ran along the west side of the pool, and it was here where the company encountered the greeting party sent out of the city to meet them.

Leading the villagers was a small group including a slightly hunched elderly man with a tall, feathered headdress. He was accompanied by a middle-aged man and women, and what appeared to be their three children. They were flanked by three warriors on each side, each armed with a spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and short swords sheathed at their waists. Their leather armor was painted in bright colors, with each pattern apparently unique to the person wearing it. Behind them stood a row of similarly armed warriors, and beyond them the gawking looks of the villagers.

The Paladins dismounted and approached the villagers, with Odalvin in the lead. Their bulky, golden plate armor made them appear almost like giant, gleaming angels compared to the natives they were to help. As Odalvin reached the elderly man he knelt, with the others following suit.

“I am Stigand Odalvin, Commander within the Order of Paladin’s House of the Flame. Behind me are my subordinates. We have been dispatched from Vitaeum upon request of Al-astor, the King Dragon, and Lord over this valley and those who live under the care of his vassal, Tillatha, the Bringer of Life. In response to your requests, he has tasked us with investigating the long absence of Tillatha.”

“And we are grateful for your aid, Paladins,” the elderly man croaked, giving a graceful bow so low, Rikart was surprised the headdress remained in place. Standing up, he spoke again, “I am Pindius, Chief of the Valley of Life. This is my son, his wife, and my grandchildren. And beyond them,” he gestured with a sweeping hand to the warriors and villagers, “are the grateful people of the valley.” Pindius fixed Odalvin with an amused smirk and a peculiar gleam in his eye. “You have quite the long title. You wouldn’t mind if I just call you Odalvin, would you? An old man’s brain struggles to remember so many words, and you may call me Pindius in return.”

“If you wish it, Pindius,” Odalvin agreed as he rose to his feet.

“Good,” Pindius said cheerfully, “Now come, we will discuss your mission after your company has filled their bellies and tasted the revitalizing freshness of the Valley.”

Pindius and his family turned and began heading down the road. The crowd parted before them, allowing the Chief and his guests to pass. The Paladins led their company forward, taking the reigns of their horses and following on foot as a sign of respect for their hosts.

Rikart observed the area as they walked. The villagers’ clothes were awash in bright colored fabrics, blooming flowers, and colorful plumage. These colors appeared to glow even brighter in contrast with their darker, sun-kissed skin. The road was of smooth, well packed dirt and stones, with the trees closing in tightly around it. To Rikart, it seemed almost as if the branches of the trees were weaving themselves together in an effort to cast the path in shade.

Suddenly, sunlight chased away the shadows as the forest gave way to a city of light-brown stone. The dirt path ended as it connected to a wide courtyard of stone running along the side of the river. Buildings of various shapes and sizes, made from the same almost-sand-colored rock as the courtyard, rose on the side opposite the river, their edifices appearing to emerge from the green foliage behind them. Another, similar courtyard ran along the other side of the river, with more buildings holding back the tide of green beyond that.

People moved in throngs across the courtyards and the periodic stone bridges which connected them. Children ran and danced and played while the adults chatted and traded with many temporary stalls erected in neat lines in front of the buildings. Rikart was impressed by the sea of color and universal cheerfulness of the people. Even as they inevitably stopped to stare or make way for the armored column as it marched past, it was with a sense of excitement and awe rather than fear or anger.

They continued straight on for a while, guards clearing the crowds before them. Then, Pindius and his family turned to the right and began ascending a stone path which rose between two buildings and wound up to a short plateau jutting from the hidden foothills. A large pavilion with rows of stone chairs and benches covered the flat space. They were all instructed to find a seat, and soon mounds of well-prepared and mouth-watering morsels were brought to each table.

The hungry company ate with vigor, and before long the platters of food had been cleared. While the soldiers relaxed with their full bellies under the shade of the pavilion, the Paladins at the head table discussed their mission with the Chief and his family.

“When did you last see Tillatha?” Thenry asked the family.

“I think it would have been about six months ago,” Pindius answered. “She visited the quarry and took a unique and very old rock back to her temple with her.”

“That rock is the problem,” Pindius’s son cut in. “It is cursed. Its foul magic must have done something Tillatha.”

“Hold your tongue!” Pindius snapped. “That rock was not cursed, as strange as it looked.”

His son looked as if he was going to keep silent, but Odalvin encouraged him, “Please, elaborate. Cursed or not, its timing as part of Tillatha’s last sighting makes it relevant.”

“Our men dug it out of the quarry. It was black, and a perfect sphere. Its surface was smooth and…” the young man glanced at his father before continuing, “Well, the workers at the quarry said it whispered to them.”

“Whispered?” The curiosity in Odalvin’s voice spoke for his subordinates. “What did it say?”

“Nothing they could understand,” The son answered, “Before they could do much to examine it, Tillatha appeared. She commanded them not to touch it and scooped it up in her claws to take back to the temple.”

“Have you investigated the temple?” Juliana, the female paladin, asked.

“No,” Pindius responded, “It is our law, we cannot go into the temple without being chosen by holy ritual. The only dwellers in the Valley allowed to enter at will are Tillatha’s priests, but they have vanished also. This is what we hoped you would do. As outsiders, our laws do not govern you.”

“I see,” Odalvin said, “How far is the temple from here?”

“About an hour’s journey further into the woods.”

The Paladin Commander surveyed his companions and their company. “Very well. I thank you for your hospitality. I believe the food will invigorate our men. We will march to the temple and set up camp outside it while we investigate its halls.”

“I appreciate your haste,” Pindius replied, “we wish this mystery to be solved quickly. My guards can lead you to the temple.” He motioned for two of the warriors to join the paladins as they stood.

* * *

Architecturally, the temple resembled the buildings in the city, but on a gargantuan scale. A wide, clear courtyard spread from the lowest step of a large staircase. The steps led to a smaller courtyard in front of a pillared edifice with three open doorways leading into the mountain behind it.

Odalvin chose a small contingent of troops to accompany the Paladins and their guides into the bowels of the mountain while the rest of the company made camp outside. Their guides led them through a maze of dusty, lifeless halls. The dust and dirt on every surface indicated that it had been quite some time since the temple had been visited. After a few twists and turns, the dark halls gave way to a gargantuan chamber.

As the explorers entered the room, they were hit with a mixture of wonder, fear, and revulsion. The chamber seemed impossibly tall; its high ceiling pockmarked with dots from which sunlight dimly lit the chamber. The guards set about lighting the torches which stood in a large circle in the middle of the room. All along the edges, it appeared giant tree roots curved and tangled themselves, creating a layer along the wall. In the center of the room was a small pedestal, and upon sat a black sphere, its surface completely smooth.

But it was something else which dominated their attention. Opposite the chamber’s entrance stood a massive, violet-scaled dragon. Tillatha stood on her hind legs, her front legs and wings splayed against the wall behind her. However, it looked as though she were growing into the wall. In several places, purple-tinged mounds of flesh burst from under her scales, fixing themselves to the rock behind her. From their a mass of fleshy material grew, mixing itself with the tangle of roots nearer the floor.

The great dragon did not stir or give any signs of noticing her visitors. It was difficult to tell if she was even breathing. As the party advanced into the chamber they fanned out. The two guides stood off to the side, whispering in concerned tones to each other. Rikart walked past them, something peculiar in the roots catching his eye. The shapes in which the gnarled wood twisted itself seemed vaguely familiar to him. As he approached one particular spot, he was shocked when realization dawned on him. The root was shaped like a human, though one in immense pain. It even had faint details matching the style of clothing of the villagers. He was about to shout for his companions’ attention when he thought he saw movement just behind the root. He glanced up and saw a hooded figure in the gloomy shadow of the roots.

“Odalvin?!” The concerned shout drew Rikart’s attention back behind them. His commander had approached the pedestal and now held the curious sphere in one outstretched hand. Rikart thought he caught the faintest traces of a whisper as an uncharacteristically gleeful look broke across Odalvin’s face, “At last! This is it! I can see so many things as I hold the stone. We must take this back with us!”

“Sir!” Rikart called out, “Perhaps we should give it a few days first to observe the effects of the stone!”

Odalvin glared in his direction, “No, Rikart, I don’t think we will.” He turned to the small entourage he had brought with them, “There can be no witnesses! Kill the natives.” The soldiers nodded and drew their weapons, encircling the frightened warriors.

“No!” Rikart shouted as he charged at the group, “Stop this madness. There is no need to kill them.” He was almost within reach of the nearest soldier when lightning cracked and streaked across the chamber. The bolt made contact with him, rapidly accelerating his body away from the group. His armor skidded across the ground when he landed, coughing. A couple shouts entered his awareness as he staggered to his feet. He looked around and saw both of the native guards on the ground between their assailants, blood pooling around them. Shocked and angry, Rikart drew his sword and fixed his eyes upon Odalvin. The Paladin held the sphere close to his chest, a malignant and contemptible smirk on his face.

“You have betrayed your oath!” Rikart shouted as he advanced on the traitor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thenry moving to join him.

There was a bright flash and Rikart heard his friend let out a painful gasp. He turned his head to see Thenry falling to the ground, the head of a white-hot spear jutting from his chest. Behind him, Dalin’s arm was finishing the follow through from the throw. Rikart took a step back, reading his sword as he realized just how outnumbered he was.

“No, Rikart,” arrogance dripped form Odalvin’s every word. “You are the traitor. You slew Thenry and burned the village to the ground, or at least that’s what the record will show. But you should rejoice! Your miserable existence will not last long enough for it to matter to you.”

Raul, Juliana, and Dalin advanced on Rikart, forcing him into a corner with the roots behind him. Knowing he was doomed if he stayed there, Rikart attempted to break past the trio. He charged forward, his blade colliding with Raul’s. The two withdrew, and their blades clashed again as Rikart attempted to step around his foe. Before he could, another bolt of electricity struck him, knocking him to the ground and stunning him for a moment.

He turned over and saw Raul’s blade coming down at him. As quick as he could, Rikart brought his sword up to parry the blow. However, he merely knocked it off course, and the steel tip found purchase in his lower abdomen. He let out a pained grunt and swung upwards at Raul. His enemy backed off, withdrawing his sword to deflect the coming blow. Rikart rolled to his feet and struck again. Raul wasn’t prepared for another attack so soon from that angle, and Rikart left a sizeable dent in the upper plate of his left arm.

However, the other two paladins were now in striking distance. Rikart parried a jab from Dalin’s spear and stepped out of the arc of Juliana’s sword. This put him closer to Raul, and Rikart was just about to parry the responding stab when Odalvin let loose another, smaller bolt of lightning. All of Rikart’s muscles froze up, and he could feel the shock in his mouth. Raul’s sword struck his chest plate, slicing through to the flesh underneath. The momentum behind the attack knocked Rikart off his feet, and he sprawled across the ground, wheezing for air. His vision was blurring as Raul’s face appeared before him, and he was mildly aware of a sharp pain as the sword was drawn from him. The sounds and colors around him blurred as darkness took him. Just as the last thread of consciousness broke, the image of a beautiful dark elf crossed his mind and he uttered one final word.

“Elora.”

Darkness surrounded him, and he sat there in the silence. He lost track of time. Eventually, he forgot where he was or why he was there. Who was he? His strongest memories became nothing but blurs at the fringes of his mind. Then, suddenly, a deep and hollow voice rang out to him from within the dark.

“Welcome, my chosen. I have a great work for you to do.”