The Dragons Within - Chapter 0

Chapter Zero- Fall of Gurgon

DARKNESS veiled the vial army until they were already within the defending ranks. Pained howls filled the air as one after another of the defenders of Gurgon fell to the bloodied soil of the Yon Wall. Stalwart soldiers lashed out with blood-covered weapons, striking and digging into the flesh of any enemy that dared approach. The pitch of dark sometimes made it difficult to tell friend from foe; only the gaping maw and the enormous size told the difference.1

Taklaem stood in the center of the lines, holding the most heavily attacked position with naught but the might of his sword arm and the will of his heart. His blazing white blade struck down score after score of enemies, leaving a pile of bodies surrounding his position to give evidence of his might. Yet where one fell, two approached, and when two fell, three came forth. It was a scene from his dreams. His worst dreams.
He impaled a foe with his blade, the better half of the shining weapon protruding from the back of the green-skinned opponent. As he wrested his blade free, Taklaem glanced beyond the immediate attackers, to see scores upon scores of their kin advancing upon him with reckless abandon. He would be overwhelmed in mere moments.2

“To the wall! To the wall!” the call for retreat came from behind him. He turned down a hacking claymore with his shield and spun on his foot to behead the beast that wielded it. Without even a breath in between he struck again at another foe, catching it about the neck with deadly precision. Falling back a pace every time he felled an enemy, Taklaem made slow progress towards the safe-haven of the Near Wall. A few hundred paces ahead of him, however, he could still see the burning remnants of what was once Yon Wall. Where once a mighty gate had stood guard, now a crumbled mass of stone and wood burned in embers over which the enemies trampled in an unstoppable stampede.3

“For the glory of Arman!” a soldier to his left bellowed with a harsh tone as he rushed the enemy. The valiant soldier struck down an opponent, and then another and another, as his mighty bastard sword cut swaths into the enemy lines. Continuing to move ever forward towards Yon Wall, the soldier felled dozens of the denizens of Gemjemalec in his rampage as he sliced this way and that. None before him stood for long, and a trail of sticky green blood flowed along the path that he had walked. However, the enemy was too many, their numbers far greater than the passion of any lone warrior. As he continued to hack and slash, more and more of the shadow-covered beasts crept alongside and behind him.4

“Look behind you!” Taklaem screamed, but his cries were swallowed up in the cacophony of battle. He slashed at the backs of enemies that were closing in upon the sole soldier, but his efforts, he knew, were in vain.
Well before he had come within twenty paces of the man, foes leapt upon his back, stabbing him all over with many blades. Even after the man lay slain and bloodied on the ground, still the evil minions continued to stab and claw at him, tearing his limbs apart from his body, and strewing his innards to the four winds. 5

Taklaem wished that he had but a moment to honor the fallen comrade; but the enemy would not afford it to him. Before he had given up his advance on the fallen soldier the enemy had taken notice of him and encroached from all around. He realized how very few soldiers were left outside the wall as he slashed and peered left, then riposted and glanced right. Most of the men had retreated to the safety of Near Wall, and gone in beyond its hallowed gates. Looking around himself, however, he saw none other with the power to lock the gate’s mystical barriers.6

“Taklaem! Taklaem!” a panicked cry came from beyond and above, a voice carried upon a magical wind. “You must seal the gate! Your brethren are fallen! You are the last!” The last was said with a breathless gasp; the cry of a leader who knew he was dooming one of his men to certain death.7

Taklaem recognized the voice of the panicked man; it was Cleric Alagosi, High Priest of the Order of Arman. He took a deep, pained breath at hearing that all of his brothers had been slain in this, the most one-sided of battles. The Paladins of Arman had fought valiantly, and he knew they’d made their people and their patron Lord proud. But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough.8

Resigning himself to his fate, Taklaem gave up fighting the horde and turned and ran with all his speed towards Near Gate. In the distance he could see that its doors had been pushed shut, but the sword crest on the front still pointed up; none of his brothers had been able to secure the door before being felled. Two lay to either side, their blades in their hands. The arrows protruding from their backs had made sure their fall before they had been able to seal the mystic barrier.9

Arrows rained down from above and Taklaem heard the screams of the fallen behind him as the archers gave him cover to reach the gate. He gave silent thanks to the archers on the wall as he arrived safely at the towering arch of Near Gate. A mixed sense of victory and defeat overcame him as he shoved his sword into the recess carved into the golden circle of the gate doors. Once the magic of his blade contacted the magic within the seals of the door, a blue light crept out around the edges of the gate. Summoning all of his inner power, Taklaem turned the device to the left, pointing his sword tip to the East, and removed the blade from the recess. It was done. The ‘Great Guardian of the North’ had been sealed – and with it his fate. Only Taklaem remained outside the gate’s protective barrier. He hung his head for but a brief moment, uttering a silent prayer to Arman for both his fallen brothers, and himself.10

He took his place in the center of the dais that led to the gate, finding a narrow crevice. Taklaem raised his sword to the sky and summoned all the power of his patron god that his mortal body could withstand. Infused by the power of Arman, he bellowed the words of his order: “Lo, ye of the night! Lo, ye without face! Be cleansed by the light! Be purified by faith!”11

After the enchantment, Taklaem struck his sword violently into the ground, gleaning a rumbling that shook his feet and the walls behind him. Green-skinned foes leapt towards him with swords drawn, but Taklaem simply knelt in silence. As their blades were to strike for his neck, a blinding white light sprang up from the ground around him, filling the circle of the dais with a blinding luminescence. Those foes that touched the light were consumed and vanished in an instant, leaving no trace of them save for a slight ash that settled near the light-shrouded paladin’s feet.12

Again and again, the dark foes threw themselves into the light, hoping to catch Taklaem with a sword before they were consumed, but none passed beyond the outer rim of the radiant power. Still they came, and still they were consumed, more and more every second.
“I am Taklaem Ray’Aaearman! The last Paladin of Arman. You shall not pass!” he bellowed, filled with the strength of the radiant magic. A sudden silence filled the area, the attackers having given up throwing themselves at the pillar of light that surrounded the mighty paladin. “Go back to the depths from whence you came, foul beasts! For you shall not pass here!”13

From the seething mass of foes that stood in the darkness outside the circle, Taklaem and those atop the wall could see a division forming. From within the divide a voice spoke, and its tone filled the heart with terror and weakness. “Time and again I have sent my minions here to destroy this gate,” the voice of terror said, sounding amused and terrifying at same time. “And time and again they have returned to me defeated by the hand of the Paladins of Arman.” A raucous laughter sprang from the being of terror, a laughter that shook the foundation stones of Near Wall and froze the thoughts of men within their own heads. “But now! Now where is your mighty order, Paladin!?” it bellowed. “They have fallen! Fallen because I-have-come!”14

“Be gone, foul demon! My brothers shall rise again, and stand here until the end of time to oppose you and your master! Never shall you pass!” Taklaem replied, in an even louder tone. He was staunch, steadfast, and unshaken. Those on the wall, behind the protection of wall and shield, quivered in fear. Taklaem was unyielding, unwavering, and enshrouded in a blinding white that proved the strength of his faith.15

“I think not!” the reply was yelled. “For you are the last! And today you shall take your rightful position behind me, as my servant! For I am Seju, Master of the Armies of Gemjemalec!” The voice was a roar, a rumble, a deep-throated growl that seemed to emanate from the darkness itself. The very air shook and seemed to flee from the sound of it, and the surpassingly brilliant veil of light that surrounded the last Paladin wavered as if with impact.16

Taklaem laughed at the saying and the voice. The very sound of the name of the foe caused his laughter to fray about the edges, becoming forced and lacking of any mirth. Still, he forced himself to laugh. “Truly you jest!” he retorted. “I shall be the very instrument of your destruction and all of your ilk! Yet you pretend to rule me?” He laughed again, this time with more confidence. “Come then, Dark One, and claim your prize!” Inwardly he was focused, training up all his powers for a foe that his mother had used to scare him to bed at night. The name, just the name, was powerful enough to undo a man’s wits.17

Those atop the wall applauded the bravery of Taklaem’s words, feeling bolstered themselves by the paladin’s stalwartness. The bravado, however, was short-lived. As were the applause.18

From the depths of darkness too deep to exist under the starlit sky, a shadow emerged and walked the path made by the green-skinned minions. The gigantic form was that of a man, wielding an immense sword in each hand and wearing upon his head four horns, one for each point of the compass. The being’s countenance was naught but darkness, and nothing was seen of it at all, except that in its darkness it had shape. And in its shape was great, deep, and dark power. The power was the being; not flesh and bone. Only power, darkness… and evil.19

“Come now, little one,” the immense shadow naming itself Seju invited, “let go of the fear you breathe.” Seju’s words were like arrows striking a man’s ears; arrows that struck the mind with an almost audible concussion that racked the brain with pain. Several men atop the wall plunged headlong to their deaths, choosing to jump from the height of the wall rather than be tortured eternally by that voice. “You are indeed an instrument of destruction, one without equal among mortals,” the hypnotic rhythm of Seju’s voice changed the beat of men’s hearts to match its own pulsation. “But… I, yes I, am Seju.”20

Taklaem felt his reality coming apart. The very fabric of his being seemed to be tearing itself in half, pulling against everything he was within. Seju was weaving his way into the innards of Taklaem’s being, forcing his way into the source of the paladin’s will. He felt panic welling up inside and fought against it. “I… will… not…” Taklaem began, fighting against the force of Seju with all that he was. Flying images of power, gold, and women spiraled before Taklaem’s mental vision, tempting him with every desire of man. Seju’s control was fleeting now, but Taklaem could sense it growing within him like a parasite; feeding on his fears, desires, and base instincts.21

“Relax,” Seju incanted, “there’s no reason to struggle.” His voice was as powerful as a thunderclap, and as gentle as morning dew all at once. Many men atop the wall simply collapsed upon themselves, seemingly crushed by an invisible weight as Seju’s control overtook them. “Be my follower.”22

Taklaem loosed a primal yell - a howling, pain-racked scream that echoed off the surface of Near Wall and into the night sky. The lone moon was engulfed by a veil of darkness, and the stars were seemingly blotted out of the sky. The control of the ‘Dark One’ had taken root. The power. The sheer power… his mind fought the words. He had no answer to his body’s need of a release from the pain.23

Very suddenly Taklaem experienced a loud crash - one that sounded as if a great pane of glass had been struck by a rock and shattered in an instant. In his mind he saw an image of a great, silvery dragon, being crushed underfoot by an immense warrior, decked in shadows. The dragon shattered like a porcelain doll, and a great breath of air was released from within it. The fragments were then ground into dust and carried away on the wind to the howling scream of a conquered beast.24

“Noooo!!” Taklaem yelled and lurched towards the towering foe. Before he’d taken a step though, he froze; his face a mask of pain and surprise. He turned to look over his shoulder at his own heel. Dangling from it were three giant Arkadian Asps, all with fangs sunk into his flesh. They dangled in the shadows, their bodies round as tree trunks and as long as wagon trails. The golden eyes sparkled from the depths of the black, scaly skin, with a shimmer of victory; of feasting.25

“Now you will meet your destiny with me,” Seju spoke quietly. As the words filled Taklaem’s head, Seju turned and strode back into the shadows. Taklaem fought with all his might not to cry out in pain and not to give in to the darkness creeping around inside his head. But it was too late. “Follow me, my servant. Taklaem is no longer for you. Takinmagu is what you shall be called,” Seju informed. “Follow me.”26

Against his will, and against the struggling of every fiber of muscle in his being, Taklaem, now Takinmagu, took one pain-stricken step after another, following behind the darkness upon shadow that was Seju: Master of the Armies of Gemjemalec. The asps dragged along behind him, yet pushed him ever forward as his mind and soul struggled against the hypocrisy he was committing.
Cleric Alagosi stood stricken and stunned atop the great wall of Gurgon. Warriors gaped in disbelief, while others had fallen into a slumber from which they would never wake. Alagosi, however, was stunned for another reason. “It’s over for us,” he whispered. “May all the powers have mercy upon us.”27

A stalwart warrior to Alagosi’s right looked at him with a face that was a mask of determination, but that did little to hide the man’s own fear. “What shall we do, High Priest?”28

“Send swift riders, Stargon, to the south,” Alagosi commanded despondently. “We must leave it in the hands of the Southerners to defend this world now, for this wall shall not hold such a power at bay. The Southerners will need to know what they are up against.” He hastily prepared a scroll and, when it was finished, handed it to Stargon who ran towards the stable. 29

Four cloaked riders drove their mounts to froth, trying to escape through the Southern pass before the magic’s of the cleric closed the way. Each tried and tried not to look back, not to look back upon their home in which they had dwelt all their lives. One, though, gave in to the curiosity. Turning, only briefly, to peer over his shoulder, the man saw what appeared to be the image of a great, black dragon, sitting atop a flaming toy castle. Yet he knew it was no toy.
30