The Ashes of Time

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

There weren’t always pirates on the galley.

Oh, surely the gods have forsaken us here,

The end of time will come and go, it must be near.

All the gold and silver can’t save you now,

All the gods and heroes can’t save you now.

The bastard and the king burn the same,

And that’s the beauty of the flame.

All the gold and silver can’t save you now,

All the gods and heroes can’t save you now…

The bard’s voice echoed throughout the cavern and fell on mostly deaf ears. Dark times do not fare well for bards. Dark times create hard men and sad bards. Although some argue that those are the best bards.

The company sat around a fire in one of the many caves at the bottom of the Valley. Shadows danced along the cavern walls, and the wood crackled occasionally. A rumbling volcano overlooked the Valley; it had laid dormant for centuries. However, these days smoke filled the sky, and ash floated down to the earth like snow.

A young child, Burrin, curiously stared at the bard as the flames flickered across his curious face, “There weren’t always dragons in the Valley?”

The bard, Svorjn, chuckled and laid down his guitar, “No, little one. They arrived shortly after the volcano awoke.”

Burrin replied, “Well, where did they come from then?”

“No one knows. Some say they were drawn to the volcano’s heat and fire, but others say they came from the volcano itself. Trapped there a long time ago by the fabled Allizar the Mischievous,” explained Svorjn.

Burrin exclaimed, “But Allizar isn’t real!”

“Well how could you possibly know that? You didn’t even know there weren’t always dragons in the Valley. You are a child of ash, born in darkness,” replied Svorjn as Burrin rolled his eyes.

Svorjn waved his arms in the air and continued his tale dramatically, “Warriors, rangers, knights, and mercenaries came from all across the Four Worlds only to fall to the dragons’ flames. Except for one. You see, Allizar was not a warrior but a scoundrel, a trickster. What he lacked in steel and brawn, he had in cunning and deceit. One day, he tricked the dragons into the mountain and trapped them there beneath stone and soil. But alas, they breathed their fire for a thousand years until they finally overcame the mountain, and it became a volcano.”

Burrin was not satisfied. “How did he do it then? How did he trap them?” he queried.

Svorjn responded, “If I knew,” he motioned to the skies, “we wouldn’t have a dragon problem, would we?”

Burrin was not ready to give up just yet. “But you said gods and heroes can’t save us,” he pointed out.

Svorjn pondered this for a while before replying, “Well you see, Allizar was neither a god nor a hero.”

At this time, a rugged man entered the cave carrying a few rabbits; a bow was strapped across his back and a sword sheathed around his waist. “He sure as hell wasn’t a bard. I’ll tell you that.”

“Tragr, rabbit again?” complained Burrin.

Tragr wiped ash off his sleeves and sat down near the fire. “Anything larger in the Valley has fled or been claimed by the dragons.”

Burrin retorted, “Well, why don’t we leave the Valley?”

Tragr grunted, “It would be suicide. The Valley is the only place with enough cover from the dragons. Try to cross the plains, and you’ll be lucky to make it 20 paces.” He looked Burin up and down and remarked, “Although the dragons might leave you be, boy. You aren’t much bigger than a rabbit.”

“Much slower though,” added Svorjn. Burrin shot the bard an annoyed scowl.

Suddenly, the trees outside the cave rustled loudly, their leaves whipping back and forth. A shadow enveloped the area, darkening the cave. The company quieted down, and they could barely make out the flapping of wings before a piercing shriek filled the air. At one time, it would have shaken them to their core, but that time was 10 years gone.

Tragr commented, “That one sounded lower than usual. They must be running out of food. I told you we didn’t have to kill them… we just have to outlast them.”

A woman, Enja, piped up, “You’ve been saying that for 5 years. We are running out of food too.”

She was correct; the company’s faces were stretched thin, and cheek bones were on the verge of poking through their skin.

Svorjn started to say something but decided against it as he stared into the fire.

“Speak your mind, bard,” Tragr said bluntly as he eyed the bard from across the cave.

Svorjn didn’t meet Tragr’s gaze. He whispered, “Faliðhem.”

A hush fell over the company. Burrin broke the silence, overcome by his youthful curiosity.

“What is that?” he asked intently.

“The hidden city of the Elves,” replied Svorjn.

“More fairy tales,” grunted Tragr.

Svorjn quickly responded, “Surely there is some truth to the old tales.”

Tragr’s patience was at its end, and he called out, “Truth? The only truth to be found in the old tales is that bards have been filling our heads with nonsense for an age.”

“The old tales told of dragons, and here we are,” said Svorjn teasingly.

“I will hear no more of it or you can catch your own food from now on,” rumbled Tragr. In the firelight, Svorjn studied the old warrior’s hardened face that hid behind an unkempt beard, long hair, and several scars.

Svorjn held his tongue out of respect for the warrior, and the company dropped the subject of Faliðhem. They ate their rabbit in silence before retiring to separate areas within the cave as darkness crept over the Valley, except for Svorjn who made his way to the entrance. The sunset was a relic of the past, now hidden by ash and smoke. However, some notes of red and purple still made their way through, and Svorjn wanted to be there to see them so that their effort wasn’t in vain. There was still some beauty left in the world, even if it was cloaked in ash. As he looked out, he became aware that someone had sat next to him.

“I’d like to hear about Faliðhem, even if it is nonsense,” Burrin whispered.

Svorjn looked back into the cave at Tragr, who was sharpening his sword with his back to them.

Svorjn smirked, “I wouldn’t trust a warrior to know what is nonsense.” He kept his voice low; he didn’t wish for another argument with Tragr. “The old tales say that long before Allizar trapped the dragons in the mountain, the Elves alone roamed these lands since Man had not yet crossed the Great Sea. Then, the dragons arrived for the first time, and the elves took to the caves just like us.”

“Just like us?” asked Burrin, “I thought they were magic.”

“They are magic,” Svorjn responded before continuing the tale, “Legend has it that rather than face the dragons, they built an underground city concealed by magic.”

“How do they eat and find food?” Burrin asked. He was sharp for his age, but luckily, these were not new questions for Svorjn.

Svorjn answered, “Now, that is an excellent question, of which there is quite some debate among the scholars and bards. Some say they sneak up into the Valley at night for food. They are swift and light of foot; they avoid detection because they are much more in tune with nature than Man could ever comprehend.

Burrin’s eyes were open wide as he asked, “So you’ve never seen an Elf?”

Svorjn shook his head, “No. No man alive has seen one, and only the oldest of tales speak of them. Another theory is that the Elves managed to harness the power of the sun in order to farm beneath the surface. They took their new sun, along with seeds and animals, down into the darkness and created a new world. One that the dragons could never find. One that Man would never find. One where they could live in peace. Faliðhem!” Svorjn paused before quietly adding, “But there is another theory still.”

“What theory is that? That they crossed the Great Sea?” asked Burrin, who could no longer hide his excitement.

Svorjn shook his head again and said, “That they starved to death within the caves, and the last few that remained were murdered when Man crossed the Sea.”

The two didn’t speak for some time due to the darkness and sobriety of the last theory. This last theory sounded a lot like what was happening to them. Burrin drew in the dirt with a stick he found near the entrance, and Svorjn sat in silence with eyes wandering the landscape.

Burrin eventually spoke, “Do the old tales say how to find Faliðhem?”

“Not exactly. They speak in aenigmas and riddles. Some devoted their lives to search for it, but they always came back empty-handed,” Svorjn replied. He pondered for a bit and then added, with disappointment in his voice, “Furthermore, we’d have to sneak back into the Great Library at Erundr, where the old tales are trapped. But alas, we cannot.”

Burrin’s prodded, “Why not?”

Svorjn looked back at Tragr before answering, “Tragr would never let us. It’s too dangerous to return to the city. If the dragons don’t get us, the bandits will.”

Burrin’s eyes returned to the dirt, and he remarked, “Better than starving to death within the caves.”

Svorjn chuckled and quoted, “I would rather die in flame than live in darkness.”

“Is that from an old tale?” Burrin asked.

Svorjn smirked, “The famous last words of Allizar the Mischievous.”

“What happened to him?”

Svorjn smiled and ruffled the child’s hair. “That is a story for another night, lad. This old bard grows weary. It is time for bed.” A lie for sure, but Svorjn did not wish to share Allizar’s storied fate with the boy.

Burrin stood up, tossed his stick into the woods as far as he could, and returned to the cave. Svorjn remained at the entrance for a while, reminiscing about telling tales and singing ballads at the great halls across the Four Worlds. Perhaps, the young boy would keep the tales alive once he was gone. He eventually rose to return to the cave, and finally noticed Burrin’s handiwork in the growing darkness. The boy had drawn a labyrinth in the dirt. An old verse about Faliðhem came to Svorjn’s mind.

Behind a door of water under the full moon,

The labyrinth of elves lies in wait.

Speak not too soon,

Speak not too late.

Ask the stone and ye shall find,

The key is a word and a time.

“I hope you aren’t filling the boy’s mind with tall tales and false hopes in these dark times, bard.” Tragr called out to him, interrupting Svorjn from his trance.

“Dark times are when he needs them the most,” responded Svorjn. Tragr grunted and returned his attention back to his weapons. Svorjn made his way past the fire to his makeshift bed, where he eventually slipped off into a troubled slumber. Nearby, Burrin lay wide awake with Svorjn’s words still echoing through his mind.

I would rather die in flame than live in darkness.

Svorjn dreamt many dreams that night. He dreamt of the Great Library turning to dust and of a man riding a dragon above a lake of fire. Elves mocked him from holes in the ground, and a beautiful ship sat in Erundr’s abandoned harbor.

Svorjn was roughly awakened in the early morning. Tragr was shaking him urgently.

“The boy is gone.”