The Flames of Rage - an Enchantica story (novel) by Peter Van Mol

Chapter One

A sudden change in the angle of their descent forced the rider to awaken from his reverie and focus on the actions of his mount. Noticing that it'd come in range of its destination, the golden-brown griffin had felt his master's distraction and had taken it upon itself to adjust its course. As he took a firm hold on the animal's reigns, the man urged it to alter its descent, and in the same way, signaled the guards on the walls of the castle below that his intentions were peacefull.

The gracefull, yet massive shape of the castle's towers, and the verdant shading of the surrounding hills, reminded the rider of days long past - of his being part of the proud army defending this kingdom, of the circumstances that forced him to depart, and on the woman he'd left behind. Urging his griffin to refrain from challenging the patrolling varrazaugas who'd approached them as they'd entered their domain, the man blinked and raised his hand in a friendly salute.

Despite the cordial - but urgent - message requesting his presence after so many years of absence, the rider wondered if he was going to be received as a friend ... or if some of those awaiting him still held to the old grudges that'd driven them apart. A glint of light reflecting from the golden armor of one figure standing in the courtyard, however, assured him that at least one of those people was on his side - no matter what the others might have said while he'd been away.

On his final approach over the castle walls, the griffin's master started to mark the many small changes time - and Vrorst's siege - had wrought upon this majestic place. In every corner of the castle, walls had been repaired with different bricks than the originals, giving testimony to the hardship these warriors had endured and to the danger they'd faced. A lot of them were bound to be angry with him, angry that he had left them only months before they'd had to face this ordeal. Then again, that he'd never really left them in heart and soul was evident from the fact that he'd answered their request in the light of what they called an even greater danger.

- - - - -

"It's good to see you again, Cray." General Halmarand greeted the younger warrior, grasping his forearm in the traditional salute fellow soldiers gave eachother, "But that griffin you're riding isn't making your chances of a warm reception any better." Looking back over his shoulder, Cray smiled at the sight of his stubborn mount raising his claws in a playfull challenge to a dragon that was being saddled some ten meters away. The love-hate relationship he had with his mount usually inspired the griffin to do this sort of thing simply to embarass his master, but the man also knew his charger to be fiercely loyal - even if the dragon issued its own challenge, the griffin would not proceed to actual hostilities.

"Soldiers are a rough breed." Cray replied to his former commander, "Among those I served with, not many were known to be of the forgiving kind. No matter what I did today would've made any difference concerning the way they feel about me. Besides, you know why I swore never to ride another dragon again. What did you expect me to ride on the way here, a horse ?"

Checking out his former protégé in a very scrutinizing manner, the General shook his head and sighed. "No, Cray, I knew you'd never choose a mount that didn't have wings, but it might've been better if you had opted for a horse just this once. It wouldn't have made a difference to the knights who knew you, but the dragons respected you ... you didn't have to antagonize them as well."

"I did what had to be done, General." the long-haired warrior said, brushing his ragged ponytail over his back and wiping the dust from his leather armor. "I hope our Lord won't be to disappointed in my attire, though. From what you wrote in your message, this meeting didn't feel like a formal reunion, but one never knows with kings and queens."

Turning on his heels to precede his guest into the castle, the General dropped his voice to a bare whisper. "It's not the King who asked me to summon you, Cray, although the person we're going to meet with is just as important as his Highness. Perhaps even more so." Understanding that he wasn't going to be told anything else before he'd met whoever "needed" him, Cray shrugged and followed the General into the dark maze of corridors that made up the interior of this wing of the castle.

Instead of mounting the stairs to the upper levels were the royal court resided, the two of them were descending into the lower parts were the armory was situated. Cray felt it odd that such an important person - as Halmarand had told him about the one who'd insisted on talking to him - would prefer to meet in anything less than the utmost luxury the rooms on the upper floors had to offer. The fact that this mistery person had selected the armory to see him, didn't bode well at all - and it reminded him of the words the General had used in his message "a grave danger that could annihilate our entire existance".

When the two of them finally entered the armory, Cray's eyes had adapted to the darkness and he had no trouble at all spotting the robed figure waiting at the far end of the room. When the man, for that he clearly was, turned and stepped into the light of a flickering torch, however, the young warrior definitely felt at a loss for words. Yellow and golden robes were draped around the majestic figure's body in a way that showed both grace and strength of mind, despite the man's clearly advanced age.

For somebody not to recognize this man at once, would've meant that he or she hadn't been part of life in Enchantica for generations, as every man and woman had at least once seen a picture of the Lords of the Seasons. Orolan, the wise Lord of Summer, had been a welcome guest in this palace many times, and so, Cray had met the wizard before ... although they had never been formally introduced.

Perhaps unaware that his guest was still absorbing the suprise of this encounter, the Lord of Summer approached and held out his hand to the unkempt young man. "I am very pleased to meet you at last, young Cray." he smiled, "Even though I wish it could have been in other circumstances."

Regaining his composure, Cray accepted the proferred hand, but still felt unable to give an appropriate reply. The wizard placed a hand on his shoulder to show him he understood, and steered him toward a small alcove where a trio of chairs had been placed around a blazing fire.

Cray waited until both the General and the Lord of Summer had seated themselves, but remained standing himself. "There's no need for formality, Cray." his former superior admonished, "This meeting was at the Lord Orolan's request, remember ? And it's his wish that it be kept as secret as possible ... if secrecy can ever be achieved where courtiers are present."

Smiling at the hidden meaning only the two of them could even begin to understand, the young warrior sat down in the third chair, and waited for the others to come to the matter at hand. Sighing, as if a great weight held him back from speaking freely, the Lord of Summer nodded his head and closed his eyes.

"When I took over the mantle of Summer's protector, " he started, "my noble predecessor informed me of many things that'd never been written down because of their delicate nature. Most of the events he refered to, had taken place generations before he himself had become Lord of Summer, and were being told to me as a sign of trust - nothing more. Some of the things he told me came as a great shock, however, and gave me a completely different view of our universe than the one I'd clung to before."

Silence hung heavily in the air as the great wizard waited a few moment before continuing with his story, but neither one of the others felt compelled to speak. When Orolan resumed his tale, his eyes were open again, but they were not fixed on any particular point in the armory - rather, they were looking back into the past, to that day when he learned what he intended to tell them right now.

"It seems that, many generations ago, wizardry and magic were still regarded as a dangerous thing by most of the people inhabiting our fair lands ... and that, in those times, apprentices or ambassadors to help the great wizards were difficult to find. Knowing that they could not hope to do their work all alone, those who preceded us in that era - perhaps in error - lowered their standards, and chose their disciples by their skills at magic alone."

"On a few occasions, their choices turned out to be as wrong as they could've been, and the disciple opted to follow a different, more aggressive path to lead nature before their will. Once, an ambassador of the then Lord of Summer, proposed what Vrorst attempted to do just years ago, and attempted to persuade others to follow him."

Eyes wide, the wizard stared at images only he could see, and told the story as if it were unfolding before his very eyes at this time. His hands sketched a storm of flames as it raged the countryside and devoured everything in its path, only to fall into his lap the next moment. "Whereas Vrorst's ice held nature captive in perpetual winter, however, this evil wizard would have destroyed it with endless flames, and all hope of redemption would have been lost forever. It was only their fear of such a fate occuring, that inspired the Lords of the Seasons to do something they would only tell to their followers - so great was their shame."

Trying to imagine what this terrible deed could have been, Cray nevertheless waited with his hands on his knees and bent forward to better hear what was about to follow. Speaking so silently that it seemed he didn't even want his guests to hear him, a tear rolled down the old wizard's cheek and hid itself in his beard.

"The great Lords of the Seasons, protectors of life and the cycle that holds it safe, decided they had no choice but to kill this man" he finally said, "but now it seems they even failed in that duty as well. Our friends the dragons, more specifically those of the race known as Tsunamis, have informed me that a direct descendant of the man our ancestors believed to have killed, is preparing to execute his own predecessor's plans."

Sorting out all the Lord Orolan had just told them, the two warriors looked at eachother and seemed to be thinking the same thing. "If this is true, my Lord." the General stuttered, "what could mere warriors like the two of us possible to do to help you ? Surely, the united strength of the Lords of the Seasons, with the help of your mighty dragon guardians, is more than enough to bring one upstart wizard to his fall."

As though he had lost all of his power and aged decennia over the last minutes, the Lord Orolan struggled out of his chair and turned away from his guests. "There are times when we cannot act openly, and when we need others to work as our hands." he spoke, "If what happened in the past became known to the people throughout Enchantica, their faith in us would be damaged, perhaps beyond repair. We need somebody most people have forgotten about to act in our stead, somebody whose choices have taken him away from the attention of royals or townspeople."

"Somebody like me." Cray grinned, and slammed his fist down onto the arm of his chair ....

To Chapter Two

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