The Tale of Heorogar

But in Hyldethrith, in this hell of hells, he found nothing alive. Even the grass had browned over and perished in the billowing tides of poison.

And so, slipping the rusted sword into its scabbard he departed the solemn place for the wastes of the rest of the world, in all of their volcanic misery. With a corona of fiery light whipping above the rocky skins of the earth at his back, Heorogar made off into the desert of decay, of charred rock and snarling rivers of magma. His pendant stuck to his neck and, with its power, the feelings of discomfort and hunger rarely, if ever entered his mind or his body. Weeks passed, the world gradually grew quiet, and the volcanoes that pumped the air full of noxious fumes began to die down into tentative slumber. During his travels Heorogar found a small dale among the plates of black rock and, deciding to spend the night there, he made his way down among the teeth of its jaw, as the light of the sun waned in the green-tinted heavens. He found a smooth surface and lay there, his eyes gradually closing even though the light of a perpetual day was still above him.

He dreamed of the Towers of Gadden, gleaming in silvery delight as the sun's forehead rose above the shoulders of the earth. He was back home, in his great Citadel, his eyes roaming the bustling city streets below-the flame dancers, the shouting merchants, the actors, the jugglers-so much was occurring at even such an early hour. From behind, he felt the presence of his wife. His heart melted, though his eyes did not glimpse her. He only knew she was there. Knowledge of such a thing was power enough.

He awoke hours later and noted immediately that it was no longer bright. It was, in fact, dark, for the first time since he had been taken from his home in Gadden. But the sight soon passed, and once again he was bathed in sunlight, the sun itself making a rare appearance from above the thick vapors of poisonous fog. He looked toward the sun to see what had caused the obstruction (he knew it not to be a cloud) and instead glimpsed a small speck in the sky, black in color, and moving very quickly across it. A new terror to liven up life, he thought to himself as he slowly drew his sword, the metal shining brightly with his pendant in the sunlight. Pregnant seconds passed, and, quite abruptly the ground shook with the screech of a terrible horn, surely wrought with evil hands. Heorogar ducked away from the light of the sun although his sword was still bathed in it, and the call came again, likely, he thought, from that speck above.

A roar in the distance answered it.

The ground began to treble.

The speck in the sky had now grown considerably, and Heorogar's keen eyes could pick out wide, black wings pumping steadily in the air. Whatever you are, foul thing, you return, he thought to himself. The tremors grew louder and faster, they sounded more like gallops than trots, and Heorogar, feeding his insatiable curiosity, peeked above the dale he stood within. He quickly fell back, nearly slipping upon the rocks, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. His fingers tightened upon his sword, and his breath came in haggard gasps. He could only feel terror, both in his mind and in his quivering limbs.