The Quest For the Black Dragon Read online

  “I’m scared.” Tinne said in a small voice.

  “You don’t have to be afraid, Tinne. The next Telling won’t be for another twenty years or more. You’ll be a pro by then, my boy.” He assured with a hand on his head.

  Tinne looked up at him with a sideways smile in response to his great-great grandfather’s comfort.

  “Do you really think I can do it?” Tinne asked.

  “I know you can.” Earl replied enthusiastically. “In fact I’ve never been so sure of it in more than two hundred years.”

  Tinne leaned in and hugged Earl’s waist when he stood up. He put his arm around his newfound apprentice for a few minutes.

  “I bet you can’t hit that stump with a rock from where you’re standing.” Earl challenged, pointing to a rotten stump on the other side of the stream.

  “I bet I can.” Tinne responded as he picked up a stone and threw it. The two stood throwing and skipping stones for some time until the sun started to go down.

  Chapter 2

  The Academy of Swords

  Earl and Tinne met every Saturday, when the weather was good, for about three years. As time passed Tinne grew in his ability to create stories. Earl had him tell stories of every type. He learned to tell stories of adventure, mystery, comedy, tragedy and even romance. At this time in the young boy’s life, however, he had neither use nor even interest in the latter and complained relentlessly whenever he was requested to do so.

  One sunny Saturday the birds sang and flitted about as Earl and Tinne arrived in their favourite visiting spot.

  Right away Tinne started looking for salamanders under every stone or stick he could turn over. Unsuccessful he began looking for his next favourite target, the praying mantis.

  Earl watched contentedly with his back against the tree. He leaned his head back and puffed away at his pipe.

  Tinne’s attention was drawn from his hunt by a strange and intriguing sight. He watched spellbound, as horse shaped puffs of smoke leapt through the grass.

  “You know, Tinne, not meaning to scare you, but if you’re going to become a Story Teller, it would be wise to learn some means to protect yourself. The longer you live, the more likely you are to encounter trouble.” Earl looked thoughtfully at the young boy for a moment.

  “There was a time when a sword was just an extension of my arm, but magic was something I came to live and breathe.” Earl explained while Tinne continued to be mesmerized by the smoke horses running in a circle above Earl’s head.

  “How would you like to control the very elements, my boy?” Earl offered.

  Tinne nodded repeatedly with his eyes and mouth wide open. He wasn’t sure exactly what the elements were, but he hoped it meant he would eventually learn how to smoke a pipe and make smoke horses like Earl was doing now.

  “That’s my boy! Well, then, I suppose if we’re going to teach you how to control the elements we should start by teaching you what they are.”

  Earl stepped down from his rock and tapped it with his gnarled and antlered staff. “Earth.” He said. “Rocks and stones are the bones of the earth mother and the soil is her flesh; a very important ally. Sometimes it is necessary to hide.” Earl explained all of the attributes including herbs and plants and directional affinity of Earth. He reached into his tunic and brought forth a round flat stone. The bulk of the stone was a dull grey with the exception of a clear crystal in the shape of a star at its centre. It was bound around his neck with a thin strip of leather.

  “This…” said the old man, “is an essential tool when dealing with earth spirits. Without it they will have no respect for you and may actually show hostility toward you.”

  “So I can’t do magic without the stone?” Tinne queried.

  “You can do magic, it’s just stronger and more effective when you have other-worldly help.” Earl emendated. “Having a rare stone such as this in you possession indicates steadfastness and is considered commendable by the beings of the other world. So your first assignment is to locate a rare stone such as this. It doesn’t have to have a crystal or a star in it, but it should be rare in appearance and preferably free from the touch of any other human hand.”

  Tinne stood with his brow furrowed puzzling over something while the slight breeze moved his shoulder length brown hair around. He looked up at Earl.

  “Why is it necessary to hide?” He asked. “If I’m going to become a sorcerer and a swordsman, why would I be afraid?”

  “Not all fear is cowardice, my boy. It often stems from wisdom.” Earl looked at Tinne pensively as he thought about what he needed to say. He closed his eyes and clenched his bushy eyebrows momentarily whilst considering the gravity of the situation. “This quest that you have begun only three years ago holds a great deal of responsibility. The fate of the human race will be in your hands.” He started upon opening his eyes. “You asked once what would happen if the good guys didn’t get a turn to speak at the Story Telling. Well the last time they only got to speak once during the whole session. Shortly after the session there were those who sought to control the future by taking control of the Gorchan.” He sighed deeply and put his forehead on his staff before continuing. “The stones were displaced. Katharine of Sitty took hold of the gold and silver, but the Union Stone was lost. If she is determined enough to steal the Gorchan it is not dismissible that she may try to control or eliminate the other Story Tellers.” The old man warned. He looked through his brow at the obviously nervous young boy. “I am sorry to have brought you in to this, Tinne, but it is imperative we prepare to rectify the situation at the next session.” He insisted. “You must believe me when I tell you; you are safe at least until the Story Telling. No one knows who you are, nor do they know where I am. You must promise me, however, not to speak of the Gorchan or the Union Stone ever again. The queen has spies about. They mingle in the realm of thought and word.” Earl cautioned as he searched the treetops with his eyes. “I greatly fear I may have spoken of them too much already.”

  Tinne nodded in agreement and scanned the treetops himself.

  “I’ve given you a lot to think about today, my boy. Let’s just rest for a while. No more lessons today.” Earl said.

  “Okay.” Tinne answered. He lay out on his back on a smaller rock near to Earl to absorb the heat of the sun.

  The two basked in the warm glow while the cicadas hummed their high-pitched hum over their heads. They daydreamed and napped and slipped into their own worlds. Stories of past and future events, other worlds, above and below unfolded in their minds.

  After a few hours of lying on his back, staring into the trees Tinne’s intention was to find a cicada but his attention refused to cooperate.

  “Grumpy Earl, are you crazy?”

  The old man’s ears and brow perked in surprise.

  “I suppose it depends on who you ask. Why?”

  “My dad says you’re a loony. And none of the things you say are true.” Tinne expounded.

  “Your father, his father and his father before him. Yes, my own son thought I was crazy too.” The old man nodded.

  “Dad also says you’re really grampa’s crazy uncle and you don’t understand reality.” Tinne went on.

  “What do you think?” Earl inquired.

  “I don’t know. I hope you’re not crazy.”

  “Me too, me too.” Earl concurred.

  They both began to lean back into their daydreams for a while.

  “Where do babies come from, Grumpy Earl?” Tinne asked.

  The old man’s eyes opened very wide and he coughed gently with surprise once again.

  **********

  The cool, crisp autumn air mingled gingerly with the early morning mists and the sun’s first rays were drawing sharp contrasts through the trees. The only sound was that of water wandering between knolls and ridges, tripping over tiny stones in the creek bed. Without warning two men burst out of the silence, chests he
aving, faces contorted in anguish. Their exhalations shot out of their lungs in short rapid succession as the current of the stream exploded with their displacement. The fog-covered floor gave way to misinterpretation and one of them sank painfully beneath the misty carpet.

  “Earl…” The other cried out, but with speed unchanged, Earl gained his feet and both men faded as fast as they had appeared.

  **********

  As was his habit, Tinne awoke with the first light of dawn. The sun itself was not yet visible through the trees, but his eyes were open and it was time to play. He ran into the kitchen to eat something. He didn’t care what. He was cautious not to wake the rest of his family. His excitement was fuelled by an extra source this morning because he knew Grumpy Earl would introduce him to a great sword fighter today. He promised Tinne he would pick him up with the horse and cart as soon as the sun was above the trees. He wolfed down a bunch of bread and jam, which of course he spilled all over the counter and table. He was gracious enough, however, to share the blame for it with his little brother who joined him halfway through the meal. When breakfast was through they played with various wooden toys and brainteasers. Tinne was sure to avoid the wooden swords when his brother got them out. One of them always got hurt and dad didn’t want to be wakened early on his day off. Their dad was an artist who was often hired by local landowners to build decorative fountains and statues for their gardens and giant homes. Tinne always liked going with his dad to install the work. His eyes popped out every time at the splendour of the homes. Typically his father would be up all hours of the night. His creative juices and vices flowed best after dark.

  “You’re a smart kid, Tinne. Don’t ever become an artist like your dad. It’ll destroy you.” His dad would say with his hair dishevelled and his eyes all baggy and bloodshot.

  Tinne repeatedly checked to see if the sun was over the trees yet. At long last he heard it, the sound of the cart creaking and bouncing down the lane. It was just as his mom was coming out of her room and he ran past her to the front door. Tinne ran out on the front deck with his brother running behind, calling, “Me too, me too.”

  “Not this time, Joseph.” Their mother said as she picked him up. “Tinne put your shoes on.”

  “Are we gonna stay overnight, Grumpy?” Tinne asked enthusiastically as they rolled down the lane.

  “No, no, not this time, my boy.” He answered.

  “It’s far though, right, Grumpy?”

  “Yes, son, it’s far.”

  “How far is it, Grumpy?”

  “It’s about…”

  “How old is Kozlov?” Tinne realized he was not waiting for the answers to his questions and sucked his lips between his teeth.

  Earl chuckled and rubbed his hand briskly on Tinne’s head.

  “The sword is about five hundred years old. The man is long since gone.” Earl said.

  “I thought you said we were gonna meet Kozlov.” Tinne said with a little disappointment in his voice.

  “Oh, no, I said he’s good enough to go up against Kozlov.” Earl expounded.

  Tinne nodded in understanding.

  “Are we there yet?” He asked as they turned down another lane.

  “No, not yet, son, another couple of hours yet.”

  The house they pulled up to was in a meadow that was surrounded by poplar and sumac. Ron was waiting on the front deck. He was a larger than average man. One would not expect he could wield a sword at all, let alone stand against the great Kozlov. His hair was salt and pepper grey and short. His voice was friendly, but authoritative. He welcomed his travelling friends with enthusiasm and showed them around his training centre.

  There were already a couple of handfuls of kids practicing throughout the meadow. They ranged in age from five years old to about eighteen years. The oldest were sparring with each other with dulled sabres while the youngest were practicing their extensions and lunges on scarecrow like dummies. Ron fit Tinne with a small sabre and set him with his age group. He taught them a few basic stances and told him to practice them for two weeks and then he would show him more.

  “It’s really too bad his father doesn’t approve or he could board here like some of the others. I didn’t realize he had cousins under my training.” Tinne heard Ron saying to Earl as they prepared to leave.

  “Yes, Will and James are cousins on his mother’s side. I noticed they’re not too shabby for a couple of second years.” Earl responded. The distance between their homes prevented a daily or weekly session, but Earl assured him Tinne would practice every day.

  By the time Earl and Tinne returned home the stars filled the sky and Tinne had just as much excitement and energy in him as when he woke in the morning. Ron had furbished him with a practice sword and some diagrams. He couldn’t wait for morning so he could build a mannequin and start practicing.

  The sun rose on the field next to Tinne’s house to find him already hard at work. He had tied a few branches together to form an armature and was stuffing some burlap sacks with leaves and dry grass to make the body. He practiced, diligently, everything Ron showed him; even the menial task of standing en garde. As time moved on he created many mannequins, some he placed in a circle to imitate an ambush as well as other groupings. Every second week Earl would take him to Ron’s and he would be tested on everything he had been taught to date. When the testing was done he would be shown something new. On the ride to and from Ron’s Earl would have Tinne tell him a story. Each time he encouraged longer and more involved stories until he got to a point of needing more than a few trips to tell one story.

  Once Earl was satisfied with Tinne’s level of commitment to his swordsmanship he introduced him to Moidrek, one of the priests of the Brotherhood of Anon.

  Moidrek was not exactly tall or thin. He wore a brilliant white robe with a sky blue stole. His skin was a very dark brown, almost black. His hair grew in tight little curls and formed a silver cap on his head. Tinne was caught off guard by this very different looking man and stared at him with obvious wonder. Moidrek smiled a smile as bright as the moon in the night sky.

  “You don’t get out much, do you, my boy?” He asked with a voice that was deep and rich. His voice was the kind that instantly washed away any fears or concerns and replaced them with joy and comfort.

  “No, sir.” Tinne replied sheepishly.

  “In time you will see more than what is in front of your eyes.” Moidrek said.

  Tinne looked at Earl with a confused look on his face.

  “Moidrek is going to teach you the ways of the Brotherhood.” Earl said.

  “I thought you were teaching me that.” Tinne replied.

  “I was, my boy, I was, but time is of the essence. The less time we have the more I need to concern myself with teaching you the ways of the Story Tellers. Moidrek, here, practices his magic everyday and has agreed to teach you as well. It’s better this way.” Earl explained.

  At first, Tinne had a little trouble juggling all his lessons and responsibilities and occasionally forgot his chores, but it wasn’t long before he had his time frames neatly arranged. Moidrek and Earl alternated days with Tinne; usually they came after lunch and spent the afternoon with him. Moidrek taught him math, science and medicine as well as magic. Earl taught him geography, poetry, history and ancient history along with storytelling. Ron continued to add to his swordsmanship every couple of weeks or so.

  Chapter 3

  The Tournament

  “What the…?” Someone yelled in the dark as something crashed in the house. Tinne woke with a start to hear his mother and father arguing. “…swords in the hallway! Why does that kid waste his time with this crap: magic, sword fighting, storytelling nonsense and all the rest of it?” Tinne could tell his dad’s creative juices had been flowing along with some others he couldn’t even imagine. He was an impatient man, but was not in any way violent, not even when the juices were flowing. “I want
all of it out. I’m sick of it. Tinne! Get out here…”

  “Honey, don’t. It’s late. Let him sleep.” Tinne knew his mother didn’t really understand his desire to be a sword fighter or sorcerer. He wasn’t even sure if she really believed in the Story Tellers, but he did know she believed in him and that she supported whatever dream he was chasing. “You can’t make him quit, dear; he’s just managed to get his schedule organized. And I hear he’s doing very well. He’s apparently one of the best in his sword classes.” This was not the first time his mother had defended Tinne’s interests. When he was only involved with story telling his father didn’t really mind even if he did say it was just a bunch of crap. When the magic and sword fighting came along and all the other courses Earl and his friends were introducing he was openly irritated by it all. “You should watch him some time. I think you might be impressed. He’s turning out to be a regular little knight.” His parents’ voices began to quiet down and when it was no longer possible for Tinne to hear them he fell back into dreams of the upcoming tournament.

  At the end of each season there was a tournament at the academy. It served as motivation throughout the year and helped students gauge their skills. There was also a good chance for graduating students to be hired by wealthy merchants and other landowners. Each level divided into pairs and the winners of the first bouts would then face each other until there was only one left. That pupil would then face the top pupil of the next level. If the lower level student won he or she would be able to skip a level of training. Every paying parent hoped for the chance at this trophy.

  Tinne’s dad endured the long wagon ride to Ron’s along with his mother and Earl. There was always tension between Earl and Owen. This Saturday proved to be no different. Neither one spoke to the other. In fact, Owen didn’t speak at all. Earl and Tinne went through various tidbits of stories while his mother listened intently, occasionally nudging her husband to get him to pay attention as well.