The Unknown Dark

"There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But they've always been in the mountains."

The voice was quietly spoken but there was no doubting its authority, as a subdued hush descended on the Elders' meeting. How it had been heard over the hubbub of the dragon discussion was a mystery but heard by everyone it was. Bart, who was leading the meeting, was irritated that he had been interrupted, just as he was about to argue with Sampson about the ridiculous claim that he had seen a dragon.

Sampson was a renowned soak and it just so happened that he had seen this supposed dragon on the night of the blood moon after a few flagons of mead, no less. He had fallen asleep, slumped by the hearth of the Newydd Tavern and had been thrown out unceremoniously by Rhian, its owner, at closing, still half asleep, by her account and mumbling to himself. He had stumbled out into the night, she said, half cut as usual.

Sampson had responded to this maligning of himself with spirit and had spun some yarn about looking up to the sky once he had got outside because everything was a strange colour. He thought magic was afoot but it was far worse! Up above him, silhouetted by the brightness of the red moon, was a fearsome dragon and how it had chilled his blood! He had heard the roar and seen the flame red and burning from its mouth and he had run home like he was being chased by the Hordes. Sampson did love to embellish a story so. Bart was inclined to think that it was a barn owl with the red of the moon reflecting on its feathers and that the mead had more to do with its dragon-like appearance than anything. They could let out quite a screech when they wanted, enough to stop the heart of any unsuspecting man but dragons? Huh, Bart thought contemptuously. Sampson was intent on creating drama any way he could. The man and his drinking was a menace.

He was just about to propose his theory about what he thought Sampson had seen and was looking forward to the possibility of laughing about it with his fellow Elders when the stranger had made his comment.

Bart had seen the white haired man earlier in the evening. Dressed in travelling garb, he sat in the shadows of the farthest corner, perched on the dark high-backed bench, his eyes focused on the drink in front of him, which remained untouched during the evening. Normally, this side of the tavern was solely for meeting members on Elders' night but Rhian had advised that the traveller had a room and so was entitled to seek comfort and a drink by the fire after eating and not be told where to sit by people who only visited the tavern and didn't own it. Besides, she'd said, he was an old man, it was a stinking night out with the wet and it wasn't like he could go anywhere else, was it?

Bart had grumbled but acquiesced in the end. Rhian was not someone who you wanted to upset unnecessarily especially as the owner of the only tavern for miles around. He also harboured a small warmth for her, although her scorn for him made him think she would never be interested. Besides, the other Elders had not objected: Huw had said "What harm can it do? I'm not sure there would be much to interest him!" in his normal affable way and Mair had merely looked over at the man and said in her usual circumspect way, "He can listen if he wants. He can add if he wants. He can go if he wants."

And for the most part, their meeting had been low key and had attracted little attention. However, with regard to the stranger, Bart hadn't failed to notice that although he had been relatively uninterested in the talk of the pig market and the continued discussion of poor crop growing, his posture had altered considerably at the mention of the most fantastical item on the agenda, the supposed sighting of dragons.

Now, having made his comment, the stranger lifted his head to address the room. He had a gentle open face, lined from smiles which had made the ridges in his cheeks and the crinkles by his eyes. He was leathery in complexion, as someone who has been outdoors, travelling rather than lounging in the sun and as a result, he had the patina of a well-worn satchel rather than the swarthiness of a mercenary. His hair was bright white and thick, a shock of it was on his head, a little dishevelled from wearing his broad brimmed hat, which was now sitting on the table beside his mead. Having removed his travelling cloak, Bart saw that he wore a simple grey tunic and soft leather boots. Bart assumed that he would be wearing some sort of trousers but the thick oak table hid them. He had the look of someone who was assured and wise, and had seen much, which wouldn't overly perturb him, probably because he had the appearance of a man who was prepared and capable. Bart couldn't see a weapon but he reckoned there was one concealed somewhere.

But what was most striking about his appearance were his eyes. Bright blue but dark at the centres. Bart wasn't one to be fanciful but it was almost like they were giving off a glow, probably accentuated by the dark corner in which the stranger had chosen to sit and the way the candles adjacent to him made them shimmer. Bart shivered a little as the eyes met his. The stranger gave him a barely perceptible nod and Bart had the overwhelming sensation of knowledge, like an instinctive connection of spirits. It was momentary but palpable to Bart all the same. Later, when he would look back on this initial meeting, he would reflect on how it had felt like a small flash of empowerment, a spark of acknowledged potential.

However, at that moment, Bart brushed it away and out of his thoughts and watched as a small frown manifested itself in the stranger's white brows and Bart felt embarrassed to continue maintaining contact and lowered his eyes.

Sampson broke the hush. "See! See?" he exclaimed, his indignation validated by the stranger. Sampson pushed back his chair to stand but with a flagon of mead in his hand and an unsteady gait caused by previous flagons, he was lucky to keep his balance. He lurched over to where his supporter sat to place a sticky hand on his shoulder, saying "Thank you, stranger!" However, the traveller dismissed his approach with a gesture of his hand, which Sampson registered vaguely through his drink-induced haze, and as a result, he quickly thought better of it and returned to his chair, looking as if he had been chastened although no words had left the stranger's lips.

There was nothing worse for Bart than seeing the words of a fool given credence. Having watched Sampson get up, he decided that he needed to speak up. All the other Elders continued to be quiet, waiting for the silence to be broken again.

"I don't believe in dragons." Bart's tone was pompous and warranted no nonsense. "They're a myth and the fact that Sampson here is the only one in the Valley to have seen them, makes me think this all the more."

Sampson gazed blearily at Bart as he said this and was about to protest but a hiccup escaped him and with it, his fight. He shrugged his shoulders and gazed at his drink, before taking another slurp.

"But he is not the only person in the Valley to have seen them." The stranger was speaking once more, quietly and precisely. "I have seen them too."

Having slumped down again in his seat on his return, Sampson's lolling head suddenly snapped up with this revelation and he turned it to the old man, a look of undisguised wonder mixed with gratitude forming on his face. His bloodshot eyes met the blaze of blue and the stranger nodded as he had at Bart, in recognition of a shared acknowledgement. Sampson had seen a lot of unexplained things over the years and this was the first validation that he had ever received for the visions that plagued his mind. He had been convinced it was a dragon but he drank so much to thwart the images in his head and the things that he sometimes saw about him in the everyday, that even he had room for doubt. He wanted escape and mead provided that, or at least, it caused a hazy veil over the pictures in his head so they were not as distinct. Or as frightening. There was one flash of an image which never failed to disturb and he would often have to drink himself to oblivion to dissipate it. It was a vision of carnage: smoke and flesh and fear. He did not know where it came from, who was involved, whether it was past, present or future. All he knew was that it frightened him and he would do anything to obliterate it from his mind's eye.

All of this ran across Sampson's mind in an instant, scurrying like a disease-ridden rat. He tried to push away the fresh images of death that he had inadvertently allowed in and reached for his flagon again but his eyes were still held by the stranger's whose face had softened into an expression of sympathy mixed with a tinge of curiosity and surprise, not perceptible to Sampson whose senses were still too fuddled to make much of the subtleties of the world around him. However, Sampson was aware in that instant of a warmth, a power that he had not felt in years and he found his hand falling short of the mead and a settling in his head, away from visions of destruction or strange beings, into one of peace. Not clarity but a place for his head to gain some respite. Almost like a sedative had been administered. If he had drunk less, he would have made the leap to knowing that the stranger was having this effect on him but Sampson merely relaxed into the feeling and shifted back into his chair in easy repose. He too would learn in time of the importance of this man and his first meeting with him as Bart before him.

The connection between Sampson and the stranger all happened in the second that a collective gasp had gone up around the tavern at the admission that dragons had been spotted by more than one individual. Huw and Mair had exchanged looks and some whispered comments about the revelation and Bart tried to repress his embarrassment at being contradicted to try and gain control and some reason again for the meeting to continue.

"This makes no sense! No sense at all!" Bart exclaimed. "Dragons can't exist! Any more than unicorns or goblins!" And encouraged by the power of his outburst, he turned to the stranger and pointed at him. "And you! Who are you to come into our midst and talk to us of dragons? This is a private meeting of Elders!"

Bart watched as the stranger, whose head was lowered again towards his drink, still untouched, took that cue to stand, using his gnarled hands to push the table a little to enable raising himself. The poise which he showed made Bart a little wary. He was concerned then that he may have crossed an imaginary line with his calling out of the man and secretly bemoaned his sharp tongue.

The old man lifted his gaze to Bart again and it took all of Bart's courage to maintain contact but maintain it he did as the old man spoke.

"My name is Telgarth. You all will have heard of me and know of me although none of you can claim to know me. I am known as the Man of the Mountains although I have not inhabited them for many years now."

Still holding Bart's gaze, he added: "I am here to help. The dragons are moving and times are shifting. You need to be ready."

Sampson's eyes had widened at the stranger's declaration. Telgarth! It couldn't be true! He thought that the man was a legend, not a living breathing being! Sampson remembered the stories his father would tell of Telgarth the Bold, Man of the Mountains and his fights and scrapes with mythical beasts and mages to name just some, intent on harm or domination or both. He thought that they were tall tales but now, here was the man himself! Sampson found himself saying the name reverently under his breath without realising it and the old man moved his eyes slowly to rest on him and smiled.

Huw and Mair were less prone to exclamations than the other two Elders although both had taken sharp intakes of breath as the name of the stranger was announced. They sat patiently but poised, waiting to hear what else he would say. Huw felt irritated at Bart's combative nature but it was useful at times to cut through nonsense. He felt uneasy, no, nervous, at the revelation that the man in front of them was Telgarth. It beggared belief really but his rational mind could lend it validity. He looked strong and composed to Huw's eyes. He could well be a legendary hero.

Mair had known he was important as soon as she had seen him earlier. She knew that the subject of dragons was to be discussed tonight even though there had been no further sightings after the blood moon, two nights ago by Sampson, and she had not been surprised when the stranger had perked up at mention of them. They had never had an additional person at their meeting - travellers tended to be transitory and needed their sleep after they'd eaten so usually went to their rooms to get up early to travel in daylight. Elders' meetings were always held on the slowest night of the week to help Rhian's trade so extra people were rare. The fact that the stranger had been present had alerted Mair to the fact that this was not a usual night. Whilst she could see that Sampson drank a lot, he was not a liar. His truth might be a little blurry around the edges but it was there nonetheless. And she had felt peculiar during the day before the rising of the blood moon. Things were off - her chickens were tetchy, her cakes wouldn't rise, every apple she cut into had black at its core. Something was afoot, out of rhythm.

Bart was shaken. Telgarth was here in the tavern! Bart too had been brought up on tales of the man and his protective stance against all things evil. Those eyes when he said his name! Bright and grasping with a sense of power. Bart had been relieved when the stranger's, when Telgarth's, gaze had shifted to that idiot, Sampson. Whilst Telgarth was imbued with a sense of benevolence, Bart's instinct told him that this old man was a force in himself. Bart was highly aware of the subtle waves of power that emanated from Telgarth and had to admit to liking the way that being in the presence of this man made him feel. There was a security to it. But Bart was a man who did not always trust his instincts and was prone to posturing and so, despite the fact that his intuition was persuaded to believe Telgarth was the hero he claimed to be, Bart could not help blurting out:

"But Telgarth is a legend! A myth! He doesn't actually exist!"

Bart could feel his cheeks getting warm at his audacity.

But Telgarth merely shrugged, perhaps showing a trace of annoyance at this Elder to the observant in the room as he inwardly thought of why this man, this Bart, was considered so important. I mean, he thought, weren't Elders meant to be chosen for their wisdom? He soon discarded this way of thinking, as he knew that despite Bart's appearance, he needed this man on side for his crucial role in the battle to come, although he was finding himself wondering that goodness knows what the Prophetess was thinking when she chose him! She must have seen something he couldn't, although the connection when their minds met earlier was strong, he would give her that.

"Well, I am here and I am Telgarth, whether man or myth. You can decide whether you want to believe it or not." Telgarth looked around the room at the few assembled and saw, for the most part, no skepticism, just awe and belief. The drunkard, Sampson, with the gift of Sight, poor man, had lifted his head and was nodding, his posture more relaxed now since Telgarth had soothed his mind. Telgarth had been surprised at the images he had seen there but they were not new to him, he having viewed the destructive visions with the Prophetess. She had not indicated knowledge of another of Sight in their meetings but that was not to say that she was not aware.

"I do exist." He paused. "That is clear to see. And if I can exist, then so can dragons." He paused again. "I can offer you no proof that I am who I say I am. Not at this time. I can only tell you I am Telgarth and I can only tell you that dragons are real. Whether you choose to trust what I tell you...: He took a breath and again, took time to look around the room, resting his eyes on Bart's again before continuing. "Well, that is up to you."

Bart felt uncomfortable. He was in conflict. He wanted to believe. His instincts were convincing him that it was Telgarth but years of obstinacy, self-righteousness and arrogance were difficult to let go so easily, especially if there was a risk of looking foolish. But he was also astute and knew that continued outbursts at this time may create the embarrassment and humiliation he was trying to avoid. And so, in a feat of unprecedented control, Bart kept his thoughts to himself.

Rhian took Bart's hesitancy and broke the tension in the room to comment herself.

"Well, I believe it. Welcome, Telgarth the Bold, Man of the Mountains. It is a privilege to have you in my tavern."

After observing the proceedings from behind the bar, where she had been drying the earthenware flagons and pewter tankards to place back on the shelves, Rhian felt compelled to speak up. Normally, she kept well out of the Elders' meetings but this one was definitely different and as she felt something of magnitude was going on in her tavern, she felt she had every right to comment. Besides, Telgarth was her guest as much as anything and she was a hospitable hostess, if nothing else. She had already been embarrassed by Bart's outbursts this evening and his belligerence towards Sampson and furthermore, as the evening had progressed, with his attitude towards the stranger. She had no doubt in her mind that Telgarth was who he said he was. There had been something about him when he had arrived that had told her he was no usual guest. He oozed strength and capability despite his age. There was no doubt in her mind that he was a hero. None at all.

She could also add that she believed in dragons too but she was not sure at this time how well received that would be. Sampson was not the only one on the night of the blood moon to see a silhouette of the winged one and to hear its screech and the roar of flames. She had seen it as she had followed Sampson a short ways to ensure he would make it home. She did this a lot. She could see that Sampson was troubled. As a tavern owner, she had come into contact with a lot of drunks and knew that some drank because they liked it; some drank and became different people; some drank to numb themselves; some drank to socialise away from their homes; and some drank to escape what was in their head. She had seen the pinkness of the sky that night and had looked to the moon to get the full measure of Nature's wonder, only to be presented with the outline of a dangerous creature. And the fire! She had lain awake that night, not through fear as although she was unnerved, she was a no-nonsense sort of woman, but in contemplation of what it could mean and how to approach it. It did not spell good times ahead, she had known that, but what did its appearance mean? It had not wreaked destruction as described in the myths of old, but there was a threat there of some sort, in its presence in the Valley. But what?

The arrival of Telgarth, to her mind, could not have been more timely and was a relief in many ways. Answers and action were bound to be forthcoming and whilst she was fearful of what the future held, she would be ready to play her part.

Telgarth looked over to her and again, she was struck by the power of his presence. She would follow this man if he needed it and somehow, she knew that he would ask this of her. As he would ask it of Bart and Sampson, Huw and Mair. How she knew this at that time, she would reflect later, she had no clue but this evening was the start of something for all of them and it was palpable in the air around them.

Bart coughed at this but said nothing, after a glower from Rhian in his direction that said "You dare?"

'Thank you for your warm welcome," Telgarth responded. "I am pleased to be in such good company." He addressed the room then, the validation from the landlady having changed the atmosphere to a slightly warmer temperature. "I did not mean to interrupt your meeting in such a way but the sighting of dragons here needs to be addressed. As I said, times are shifting and we, all of us here," Telgarth gestured with his hand to the Elders present and Rhian, "need to be ready."

Bart had kept his silence for too long. "Ready for what exactly?" He struggled to keep the contempt from his voice.

"The fight, Bart. The fight," Telgarth said, with a tinge of sadness, moving around the table now, closer towards the group as he said it. "Because unfortunately, dragons are never the purveyors of good fortune. And if they are appearing in the Valley, then the peril is on the rise. And heading this way."

Bart paled at Telgarth's words. He was no fighter. In fact, apart from verbal sparring, his fight experience was nil. His cowardly retreating, however, was second to none. He wanted to run now, run out of there and hide.

"Shall we sit, Bart?" Telgarth said, kindly. "We have much to discuss tonight." Telgarth pulled up a chair to the large table where the other Elders sat while Bart arranged his features into something less fearful. It did not strike him until later that Telgarth already knew his name. Had he heard it at the meeting prior to sitting down? He did not recall but thought not.

Telgarth gazed at the people in front of him. They were all there, all four of them, as the Prophetess had foreseen, Rhian making up the five described by her. All young for a group of Elders really, no white heads among them, although all were greying with the slight folds of age on them. Still limber but not youthful. He knew that they had gained their positions here on this council through family as well as status - respected members of their community, the eldest, he surmised. As he scrutinised them, he compared them to what he had been told and what he could see before him:

Bart the Brave, although that was going to be a work in progress he could see. Tall, dark with the makings of a leader but lacking in charisma; potential to be sulky; arrogant; lacking courage but he could sense it in him as well as good judgement if he pushed his ego to one side.

Sampson the Seeker - could the Prophetess have meant Seer, which would have been more apt? She had never been misled by her visions before so it was unlikely to have happened now. He would just have to trust her, he supposed; sandy hair and unkempt appearance but he felt he was more than a drunk, had more in him. But what? What else could Sampson see?

Huw the Healer, a man with great capabilities if only he knew; a swarthy bearded man with stout appearance and enormous hands, like the farmer he was. A positive person, Telgarth intuited from his laughter lines and his practicality with a knowledge of nature innate to him.

Mair the Muse - the Prophetess had been unclear about her role. Did she distract with music or art or something else? Was she inspiration for someone during their quest? Telgarth knew that it would become plain, it always did. She had an Elvin look of pale blondeness, ethereal and wispy but again, Telgarth sensed power within her. Magic perhaps? If Elvin, maybe?

Rhian the Ranger - a bonny girl, less rangy, more fullsome, Telgarth thought. Physically, she was strong, he could see from the muscle tone on her arms. She was capable and confident and willing and he felt that she would assume any role given with a duty bound determination. Yes, he was sure that she would make a good Ranger with time. If they had it.

Telgarth took a moment or two more, ruminating on the people before him. This campaign would be one based on experience rather than exuberance, he thought. Not necessarily a bad thing if rashness was not needed. It had been many years since there had been a threat to the harmony of his world. It had usually shown itself in human form but now, something else was lurking, rising from the dark with evil purpose. It was hard to quantify what it was. The Prophetess had been vague but not through deception or a willingness to mislead but from lack of clarity. What she had been clear about were the people and their alliterative titles but nothing else.

But the dragons knew. There was no greater indicator of unrest than the appearance of dragons. And the fact that they were making themselves known here in the Valley was portentous.

The Prophetess' parting words to Telgarth were direct: "The dragons know, Telgarth. You need to lead them to the dragons."

Telgarth transported himself to the present and focused on the task at hand. If he had to lead them to the dragons, then he would, to find out the answers of what they all had to face. This did not worry him although he knew that some convincing would be needed. The prospect of dragons at the best of times is daunting although Telgarth knew they were much maligned creatures, judged on their appearance rather than from any real knowledge. Reclusive really, protecting themselves from extinction and lack of understanding. They didn't really like to put themselves out there, preferring the mountains and their craggy outcrops and caves for their cover and shelter.

What worried him and had done since he had arrived is that it didn't look like any leading was going to be needed as it seemed the dragons were coming to them. And that was not a good thing.