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The Dragon’s Crystal
The wind had been blowing hard and cold all day, and worse yet now that it was night. The pale moon that adorned the sky was not enough to break all the way through the thick darkness shrouding the valley. A large and long forgotten forest lay at the bottom of this bitter dale, offering a little cover from the snow-filled air. Hidden among the skeletons of once glorious trees, a cloaked figure led its horse around the upright dead bodies that were previously oaks, maples or birches. The only marks of their former grandeur was their impressive diameter. Black clouds shifted briefly away from the moon, so strong was the wind, and barely allowed it to grace the old forest with a few thin beams of light. In those weak rays, the face under the heavy hood became visible. It showed the smooth and delicate features of a young woman, skin as ivory, with locks of ebony framing her figure and spilling about her slender shoulders like silk. Underneath the fine, dark green wool cloak she wore a thick velvet dress, regal red with snow white frill around her rather low neck line. The bodice was cleverly and carefully worked with gold threads. Anyone could tell this was a dress far from plain, if not a little off season, yet it kept the wearer surprisingly warm.
She hurriedly made her way through the twisted trees with their gray and white bark, their bare branches clawing at the silent night, just as at any traveler foolish enough to ride here blindly. Having taken her precautions, she guided her white mare, Moira, behind her. Her hooves echoed in the emptiness of the path alarmingly. There was no life here, no foxes with large golden eyes, stalking some prey. No owls with their high pitched screeches or crows with their mocking calls. Not so much as a rustle in the dry leaves piled around naked roots invading the long abandoned trail. They surged from the ground as if to purposely trip the rare and unwary passers. Her slippered feet stepped lightly over the uneven ground with a feline’s skill, however advancing was still slow and difficult.
Suddenly she came to a halt, sense alert, her lithe muscles tensing as she reached for something under her cloak. She could feel the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end as a chill crawled up her spine. Something was watching them, lurking around here, and it was not of good omen. Her mare registered her mistress’ reaction and immediately propped her muzzle on the woman’s right shoulder; her mobile ears twisted in every direction to capture any possible sound that might present danger. Nothing came, save for the muted roar of the wind.
After a few more minutes passed, the woman relaxed and reached over her shoulder to pat Moira on the nose, “Forgive me if I startled you, I just felt an ominous presence,” then, with a reassuring smile, added, “It is gone now.”
The horse replied with a soft whinny and a nod; her way of communication. Taking the leather reins in hand, they set off on their journey once more. However, though composed on the surface, the woman’s nerves were still on edge; what she had felt had not been a fleeting shadow. It was big and undoubtedly strong, both physically and in its malevolence. She suspected it was a rogue luhrk. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, to calm herself down. Soon after she began to softly recite a spell for defense and counter-attack. “Eien atch mal, eien atch man’troe. Nore en dur’aan al man’ork verruk.” Over and over she repeated until she was sure she could execute it without slur. The gestures accompanying the lines were simple enough and needed no rehearsing; they were almost second nature to her by now.
The sound of her mare snorting and her pulling on the reins abruptly brought the maiden back to the reality of their situation. They had reached a large clearing, dried and yellow-brown grass becoming the only vegetation present. Oddest thing though, in the middle stood a smooth oval stone which appeared, upon further inspection, to be a tablet with faded runes scratched into it. Probably a record from a lost civilization, or a memorial for a long forgotten battle. Bringing Moira around a fallen tree, she approached the stone, if not with some caution. Once she was right in front of the stone, she squinted her eyes to try and decipher the text.
After only a couple of minutes of study, a frown creased her fair brow, “This rock must have been here for centuries. It is completely weathered down and I cannot read a word off it. Perhaps if I…”
She lifted a hand to take off some of the dust and grime that had been accumulating in the cracks that composed the runes, but as soon as her skin made contact with the cold surface, the stone emitted a low hum that seemed to come from the depth of the earth. Both horse and woman flinched right away in a similar motion, the latter also letting out a yelp of surprise. Gradually, the drone subsided until it vanished completely, allowing the previous silence to creep back again.
“A’an ë ther mullock?” Exclaimed she, exchanging glances with her mare, “I have never seen such a thing,” she stopped, frowning once more. “Wait, I do remember a lecture about an event of similar sort, when I was still studying at the Golden Hall.”
Moira, who still had her eyes set on the stone, whickered and muzzled her mistress so that she would turn to see it as well. She did, and to her astonishment, the old tablet now glowed with a green aura all of its own, emanating the strongest from the core and on. “Amazing,” commented the maiden, “Perhaps I can gather a sample and send it back to my professor of old.” She stopped, a pensive look on her face. It was then replaced by devious smile which tugged at the corner of her lips, “Perhaps then my rival will finally acknowledge my greater worth and wisdom.”
The mare snorted reproachfully, but the woman had no chance to respond. She spun around in time to see large creatures, with matted fur as black as emptiness itself, hungrily bound out of the forest and gather around the stone with jaws open, salivating excitedly. She could feel their pupil-less, dark yellow eyes set on her, prickling her skin like needles; her own eyes widened and her hair stood on end. This reaction was not caused by the cold; these were creatures from the World of Chaos that were grouping before her. It was too late to run, they had probably registered her scent and, given her magical abilities, would hunt her down and kill her, even if they had to go to the farthest reaches of the world to do it. There was no escape unless she killed them in one shot. Unfortunately that was very unlikely for the simple fact that these luhrks were in a pack. A large pack.
The lines she had practiced were drumming in her head whilst the magic flux inside her was building up, only waiting for the opportune moment to strike in an abrupt and violent explosion. She was about to choose a target when a luhrk larger than the rest separated itself from the pack and went to stand in front of the stone. This one seemed to be the leader. An orb like amber shone on its forehead and it was the only one who seemed unfazed by the bloodlust of its companions. This one is definitively the Luhrk’taal.
Then, against anything the woman could have expected, the Luhrk’taal spoke. “You. Human known as. Malvera Tuathla,” it said in a hoarse and broken up voice, “You are. Trespassing. On our territory.”
Too stunned to do anything, Malvera stood silent and waited fearfully. Behind her, Moira danced around a little before resting her muzzle on her mistress’ shoulder for reassurance. The white of her eyes was still apparent despite her attempt to calm down.
“Human. My brothers sense. Magic within you,” the creature went on, “We feed. On magic.” His statement was received with vicious growls and howls. “Yes. My brothers. But this human. Broke the stone. Our. Food source.” Again, more beastly sounds ensued. “This stone’s power. Is gone. But. It had become weak. This human female. Has absorbed. What was left.” Now the luhrks were quivering for the violence to come and were actually starting to break the lines. Even the Luhrk’taal was getting impatient. “Brothers! She is full of. Delicious power. She is. Even stronger than. The stone when. Those other humans had. Placed it here!” The end of his speech was quickly coming to and end, “Feast! Feast on. Her flesh and bones. And power. Feast for we will. Have to search for. Another source! Feast brothers!”
Everything happened in the matter of a split-second. The Luhrks launched forward, jaws wide open and eyes flaring, just as Malvera’s energy burst from her and hit the first three creatures, sending scarlet and golden sparks into the air.
“A’an ë ther mullock?”: translates as “What in the world?”
“ translates as “What in the world?”Altharn: Capital to one of the four sacred elven kingdoms known as Medora.
“Eien atch mal, eien atch man’troe. Nore en dur’aan al man’ork verruk”: translates as “Repel all evil, repel all black magic. Make this creature of darkness vanish”.
Golden Hall: a highly praised Magus school. Many rulers and nobles born with the Gift have studied here, as well as a number of commoners that came to be the strongest of Magi.
Luhrk (lurk): a malevolent creature that usually dwells in ancient forests, it can also be found near artifacts with strong emanations of magical power. It is similar to a wolf, both in traits and size, but its muzzle is longer and the canines are long and curved like daggers. It also has two pairs of ocher-colored eyes. Older specimens are known to grow a fifth eye in the middle of their forehead.
Luhrk’taal: literally, “luhrk leader”. The chief of a luhrk pack.
Malvera Tuathla (mal-VE-ra tua-la): the first name comes from the sixth queen of Altharn, Malvera Eavnat (eve-nit), whereas Tuathla, meaning “princess of the people”, is famous in the world of Magi; symbol of her ancient lineage and noble blood.
Moira: Malvera’s horse. It is a breed whose coat can only be white or silver. Furthermore, it is said that this particular variety belongs to a distant branch on the unicorns’ path of evolution, given its particular magic qualities. These abilities can vary between horses.
World of Chaos, the: also known as the Dark World or “Man’mullock”. It is a world parallel to Earth. Whenever the two worlds touch, which is an event that happens at random in time and space, creatures migrate from the World of Chaos into ours.
This story is for my Writer's Craft class. The point of this exercice was to imitate the style of an author, then make your own story based on that style. I chose Robert Jordan (author of the Wheel of Time series), namely because I admire his work, which is so similar to J.R.R. Tolkien (whom I worship). I would have loved to imitate the latter, but at the time, Jordan seemed to be the better pick. I don't regret it, I am actually glad I picked him because his style is so much more different from mine. He did, however, give me some difficulties...
If I have time this Christmas break, I will try to continue this. I will then post it here, for you, my beloved readers.