The Guardians' Blade

Chapter Nineteen – The Capture of the Dragon child.

Serraria stood by her horse, looking at a map that she had drawn on one of the pages of her journal. On it was the name of the grand old forest she was looking at: the forest of Tarkil. She hadn’t gotten much information about this place from the Rangers or the Guardians, or from her orders on finding out all aspects of the Golden Realms. So this would be one final stop before she would head home, or that was the plan. After slowly glancing around, noting the plains of grass that swept out from the mountains alongside the Forest and down to the northern shores of the lake of Shimmering, she sighed with a little smile. Then she set off, making her way carefully into the forest, past thick round trunks that reminded her of Silvaria and Kilimanjari. She reached out to smooth fingertips against a tree-trunk, feeling how alive the trees were and she smiled to herself. “Just like the other two forests,” she whispered. “So some Krysalith must live here.” She glanced upwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of life in the canopy but it was so high, and dark she couldn’t make out anything. “Hmm – I’ll give it a little more time,” she muttered softly, as she walked deeper into the forest, noting there were some worn tracks in the earth. She kneeled and touched some prints with her fingertips. These seemed to be made by small animals. She could also hear now the sounds of birds up above in the branches. She straightened up slowly and then blinked as she saw Rakkath standing by a tree trunk. “Rakkath?” she asked curiously, at first thinking it was just an illusion, before she slowly approached him. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you we’d met up again.” He gave a tight little smile as he moved away from the tree trunk he had been leaning against, unfolding his arms as he did so. “And you look a little lost, are you looking for something?”

“Oh, I’m just exploring.” Serraria smiled lightly as she walked up to him. “And I hadn’t had a chance to look at this place up until now.” She tilted her head before glancing around. “Do you know anything about this forest?”

Rakkath looked up into the darkness of the canopy overhead then back down to her and smiled lightly. “Yes, come, walk with me and I’ll tell you all you want to know about it.” He moved to follow a path and began to lead the way.

“Does anyone live here?” was her first question.

“Some people say no, but there are stories of a blue-skinned nocturnal race that live up in the canopy. They are called the Krillion. They are very shy of people; no one has ever really seen them. All we have are just stories. Some I would say are completely made up.”

“How do you know they are called the Krillion?” she glanced over at the Dark Krysalith.

“That’s what the Dragons of Drakebare call them. The Krysalith of Kilimanjari and the Dragons have had the only contact with them. And that was in the early years when they first arrived. Since then it’s become merely hearsay.” He smiled slightly as he walked along. “The other thing said about this place is that the Forest is very much alive, and that the trees have a mind of their own.” He paused a moment, looking up and around as he lowered his voice. “And they do not like strangers coming in amongst them so most people tend to steer clear of this place.”

“Are the trees alive?” asked Serraria curiously.

Rakkath shrugged his shoulders. “There are stories that when some Omarian woodcutters came here, to cut down trees for building nearby, that they all disappeared. All that was left were their axes dumped at the edge of the forest. And they haven’t tried to cut wood here since. The plains have only recently started to be settled but the Omarians keep as far away from Tarkil as possible. There are too many bad stories and superstitions to do with it.”

Serraria pondered over this information as they splashed through a bubbling brook, and turned down another path that seemed to lead into a darker part of the forest. “Where are we going now?” she asked.

“I thought I’d show you the oldest tree in this forest. It is known as the Milian tree and it’s said to hold dangerous toxins in its leaves. But a powerful antidote to all known poisons in this land is its tree sap. Some have said that you can pass through the tree into a hidden chamber where a terrible secret is kept.” He chuckled quietly as he looked over at his young friend. “As I said, some are strange stories and don’t really make much sense.”

“Perhaps it has to do with the history of this place,” came Serraria’s response, with a light smile at the idea of being able to see the oldest tree in this forest. She paused though when they entered a clearing and found a man standing there. She tilted her head slightly as Rakkath brought her up to him, and asked. “Are you the keeper of this forest?”

The man chuckled quietly, making a motion of his head to Rakkath, who took a step back behind the girl-child. He returned his gaze to her. “No, at least not yet. I am called Dargoth.” He made a slight bow. He looked like a prince in his fine black silk tunic and pants, with a grey cloak draped about his shoulders and held in place with a snarling wolf brooch. “Did I hear you a right?” he glanced towards Rakkath then back at Serraria. “Were you going to see the oldest tree within this forest?”

“Yes.” She looked at the man a moment longer, finding her senses tingling. Something was amiss but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Well, I am wishing to see it also.” He motioned to Rakkath. “Won’t you show us both, my good sir?” Rakkath nodded, barely managing to keep himself from calling Dargoth ‘sire’, and moved to lead the two out of the clearing and onto another track that seemed fainter than the first.

“Where do you come from, Dargoth?” asked Serraria curiously as she walked along at the side of her new companion.

“I come from the north,” he responded in a casual manner and noted how she stopped in her tracks and was now staring at him with a frown.

“Oh? You do not like people from the north?” he queried and then motioned towards Rakkath. “He is from the north and yet you talk with him freely.”

“That is because I know him,” she responded, still eyeing the stranger. “I do not know you,” she added.

“Well, you could get to know me.” He flashed a little smile at her, and motioned a hand. “Come walk with me, ask me any questions you might have.”

Serraria looked over towards Rakkath, but he seemed to be refusing to look in their direction at the moment, which made her feel all the more uneasy as she remembered the words of her friends in regards to the Dark Krysalith. She then looked over towards Dargoth who was waiting for her response, and after hesitating she smiled slightly back at him and moved to walk with him. “Alright then, if you are from the north, why are you here then? Is it too cold? Are you running from the Warlords?” she asked.

Dargoth laughed lightly as if very much amused by her. He clasped hands behind his back as he slowly walked with her. “It is never too cold for me, I don’t really feel the cold much, you see.” He glanced over to her, weighing her up in that glance. “I’ve been exiled from my kingdom by those horrible Warlords.” He shook his head slightly. “I am the rightful ruler, you see, but they’ve taken it from me. So I am waiting for the right moment to take it back.”

Serraria looked over at the nobleman who was now claiming to be an exiled Prince and smiled gently at him. “Would you stop the constant raids on the south lands?”

“Yes.” He nodded firmly and stopped to turn and face her, gripping her arm as he spoke with passion. “Many things would change if I was ruler.” He smiled and slowly released her arm. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat then turned to walk on.

“That is most curious. Well, Lord Dargoth I hope you do succeed. My friends have had a hard time from the northern warlords. And I would like to see it all end someday.” She smiled lightly then thought she saw another opening in the trees up ahead. “Is that the tree Rakkath?” she asked curiously.

“I believe so,” muttered the Dark Krysalith, as he led the pair past several large black trunks and into another clearing. Here there was a tent, not far from a huge twisted gnarled tree, which seemed almost leafless. The grass was dead and blackened, and there was a strange moat of a black inky substance surrounding the base of the tree itself.

Serraria slowly came to a halt, taking this all in. She blinked, as she thought she could hear whispering. She had heard it previously when she first entered the forest, but now it seemed all the more clearer and it made her frown. It was not welcoming, but sounded like a warning, as though the forest was telling them to leave this place. But her curiosity was greater than the whispered warnings as she approached the strange black water. Crouching down, she dipped a finger into it, and lifted her hand, as she watched it stick at first then drip from her fingertip. “This is very strange,” she said, as she stood up slowly then turned around to face her two companions.

“Very.” Dargoth nodded, he held a goblet in his hand and smiled lightly at her. “Won’t you take a toast with me? We have seen the ancient tree of Tarkil, it is truly a marvel to behold eh?”

Serraria smiled, although she felt something was wrong. But this Lord didn’t seem to be of any danger to her. So she nodded and walked up to him, and took the goblet he held out to her, while he took up another that had been sitting on a little table that she only now had just noticed. “To the Golden Realms and all its wonders,” she stated, lifting the goblet high.

“To the Golden Realms and all its unique secrets,” he responded with a little smile and lightly tapped his goblet against her own before he took a deep drink then lowered it slowly, and watched the girl intently.

Serraria grinned and followed suit, drinking deep, swallowing the entire contents before lowering the goblet. Then she started to feel rather strange as everything began to spin. Dropping the goblet she touched a hand to her brow as she staggered and was caught by Rakkath who helped her stay on her feet a moment longer. She glanced up at him and mumbled out, “I don’t feel so good,” before her eyes rolled up as she passed out.

Dargoth chuckled softly as the tent flap was flung open and Ragnor shuffled out to get a look at the girl now being held in Rakkath’s arms. He let out a snort before glancing over at the Wolf king and motioned at her with a gloved hand. “We went to all this trouble for this little imp of a girl child.”

Dargoth slowly approached Rakkath and took the girl into his own arms. He looked down at her pale features a long moment then spoke softly. “A very powerful Dragon child, my fine crippled friend, and now she is ours.” A low chuckle escaped him, before he threw back his head, letting out a rich deep dark laugh that echoed up into the canopy above.