The Silver Door

The Great Great City and the Druid

Chapter III

The Great City, and The Druid

Skane, heart of the Draconi empire, was a city to be marveled at. People would come from across Altheim, just to worship at its temples and pilgrimage sites. They would come to see its high walls, to feast at its long tables, and drink in its luxurious taverns. For fifty years, Skane has been the very centre of life for all the people of the Draconi empire, which itself is only twice as old. When the great empire was newly formed, a Covenant was made between the races of the Elves and the Men; they, being the most populous and fruitful in number across Altheim. It was under a starry sky, surrounded by ancient standing stones, that every leader, every King and High-Priest made their mark upon the High-Stone of the North, forever binding themselves and their people into a Covenant of peace. All except the Dokk-Alfar, the Dark Elves.

It was war, for two hundred and seventy years, it had been endless war. A leader arose in the south, in the lands of the Dokk-Alfar, as was he himself one of them. Nuun, he was called, whether that was his true name or not, none now care. He united the Dark Elves, and for thrifty years he built his armies, prepped his armada of ships, and set sail, north. It was here that he and his armies destroyed the old city of Skane, reducing it to little more than ash and rubble, decimating its population, killing the High-Priest of an old and wise religious order, though small they were. The Lot-Alfar, the Light Elves, with their mysterious woodland brethren, came to the aid of Men, forsaking all bonds with their twisted kin, and together they waged war back against the dark hordes.

Though the Dark Elves came close to victory on the last year of war, it was only due to Nuun's malice and treachery. He had betrayed many of his kind in order to recruit the most dangerous of enemies to join him. He sent ten legions of warriors into the cold wastes of the far North, into the ice and fire of the Desolate Lands, to bribe a treaty with the creatures and dark, mad beings who dwelt there. Only by offering large swathes of Altheim back to the forgotten people of the Desolate Lands, could he build and army great enough to wipe Men and Elves from the face of the world. The tyrant of the far North, of the Desolate Lands, the King of the Dead, the Mad King, the Betrayer of Souls, Reaper of Men, the one they called, Thrall, a twisted soul of origins unknown, offered his allegiance to Nuun. Some say that Thrall was himself once a Dark Elf, for their lives expand across a thousand years. Perhaps he was, one dark soul, who became so twisted in the Desolate Lands that he himself became something more, or less. Wherever he came from, he held great power in the North, and knew of deep magic, old magic; enough to cripple to the greatest of sorcerers and mages, Priests and Elders. None stood before them now, and so the army marched, from two sides, bearing down on the lands in between theirs, the lands of peaceful harmony, where Men and Elves had lived so long in relative peace. It was only in the last hour, the decisive moments of war, that the Silver Door opened. No one knows where it happened, or even saw it, but from its unknown places, the Silver Door brought forth three heroes. A man, a female Elf, and a Wolf, whiter than the purest snow. These three warriors stood together on the battle field, outside of the ruins of Skane, and with an army of multitudes behind them, they used cunning, magic, prayer, and pure will to defeat Thrall and Nuun.

After their defeat, Thrall escaped, returning to the Desolate Lands, where some say he died at the foot of his mountain fortress. Others say he merely faded away, stripped of any power that was keeping his twisted soul alive. Whereas Nuun, he was slain in front of thousands. The white wolf tore him to shreds before his army, his leaders and his people. Disheartened and broken, the Dark Elves, the Giants and Trolls, Skin-Changers and Goblin Men fled the battle. No one has seen one of these creatures in many years now, save for the odd one that stumbles down from the North in search of food, only to find a swifter death. Perhaps that is why they come, for leaderless and hungry, they wither away in the frozen wastes and fiery mountains. As for the Dark Elves, they still wage war, if only against each other. Bands of tribal warlords, sorcerers and generals fight for control of their lands far to the South, across the Sea of Dokk-Wassen. If any of them stray too close to the shores of the new Draconi Empire, they do not survive for long; there is no mercy given anymore.

So, after almost unstoppable defeat at the hands of the Dark Elves and their armies, the Men and Elves of Altheim made their Covenant, promising never to wage war against each other, never to threaten one another, to increase trade and prosperity, and to, regardless of race, rebuild the lost cities and lands. So, it was that the Covenant of Stone was made, and signed, and the races of Altheim had started to rebuild. For the men and women amid Altheim, they saw a sweeping religious movement take hold. The Elder Priests of Skane, those who worshiped the Lord of Creation and the Gifts of the Elder Dragons, though little in number, managed to take hold of men's hearts and win over their souls. Before this religion, there was little more than pagan and heathen tribes of leather-clad warriors, dealing in slaves and squabbling over land rights. Yet now, just fifty years later, they have built an Empire, and call themselves the Draconi; and though many other religions still exist amongst Men, the Elder Priests reign supreme. In the northern islands of Trond, the only other religion to match is of the old Skall, who worship the Aesir, and the Vanir, old gods, angry gods. Yet the Elder Priests do acknowledge the old ways in their sects, they have only one High God, nameless and omnipotent. Any of the other gods are merely puppets of the one true Lord of Creation; and so, if you worship Odin, Woden, Thor, Tor, Tyr, Mithras, all the ancient gods and goddesses of the many worlds, remember that they are but messengers, even if they speak to you in person. For though there may be a great peace across Altheim, there is also great jealousy and fanaticism, a little talk could get you in trouble, a lot of talk, can get you killed.

On the steps of the Cathedral, Ethelwulf was greeted by the eldest of the Elder Priests, who ushered him inside the huge buildings, with its magnificent wooden doors and gilded, golden handles. The Draconi guardsmen behind him, kept their distance, but made sure their spears were held tight to their chests.

'This way, we have much to speak about.' The Elder Priest spoke hurriedly, waving his arms about as he ushered Ethelwulf forward, 'my name is Jargrun, and there is somebody very special I would like you to meet. I believe that you two may have much in common.'

They walked through, into the Cathedral, and Ethelwulf was once again lost for words. The ceiling, hundreds of feet high, was painted in the most fantastic fashion, great murals depicting the great battles in Altheim's history. The central painting, showed three, two headed serpents, rising from a tumultuous sea, being fought by an armada of longboats, fire and rain cascading over the warriors as they fought the terrible creatures. Around the edges of the central mural, were seven smaller ones, some showing the war against the Dark Elves, others showing the White Wolf of the Silver Door, battling Giants and Trolls on the mountains of the West and North. In one particular painting that Ethelwulf noticed, he saw a Man, or Elf, though he knew not the difference yet, slaughtering a crowd of soldiers under a stormy sky, a bright blue sword, blazing in his right hand as it cut into the soldiers of the Covenant. Little was he to know that this was the last stand of Nuun, who died right here, on the site of this very Cathedral. Though he recognised little, he was slowly beginning to realise that this place, this entire world, was not the one he had grown up in, nor one he had ever heard of; and his stomach churned once more.

'Come, come, keep up.' Elder Jargrun said quickly, as his small feet echoed across the stone floor and the Cathedral walls. He rushed through the magnificent building and passed the pews and knaves, until they passed behind a great altar of stone, with deep runic marks carved into it. The size was once again incredible, and it must have taken over fifty men to haul this behemoth up the steps and place it at the rear of the Cathedral. Behind the altar, a stone wall rose to the ceiling, but had yet another set of twin doors, closed on their hinges. Elder Jargrun flicked a heavy golden handle and pushed with all his might, for the door to open only slightly. Yet it was enough for them to enter, and when they did, Ethelwulf let out a sigh of awe.

Noticing his remark, Elder Jargrun explained that, 'this is the Hall of the Elders, which leads to the Inner Sanctum, below.'

The hall was devoid of any paintings or colour, but what stood in their place was a marvel. The largest stone statues, of grey and silver kept a silent vigil, over twenty of the monstrously sized carvings covered the sides of the hall. The first statue was of a man, clothed from head to toe, an ornate silver beard hanging down, entangling into long, silvery hair. In one hand, he held the almost same sceptre that Ethelwulf had seen the Priests use on the Skin-Changer. In the other hand, he held a rounded object, on its face was carved oceans and mountains and clouds.

'That is the Lord of Creation, holding Altheim in his hand, his most glorious world.' Elder Jargrun spoke excitedly, adding, 'but not his only Creation.'

Yes, Ethelwulf was beginning to understand that. Even though no one had explained anything to him of his arrival here, or why he had been placed in restraints as a prisoner, he was picking up shattered fragments of his life, slowly, cloudy at first, but they were coming back he thought.

The next statue was of a huge grey tree, on which, hung twenty-three silver spheres, which at first looked like fruit. At a closer inspection, you would be able to see that these were in fact more worlds. One, the very same silvery sphere seen in the Lord of Creation's hand, and another you might notice, just beside it, looks rather familiar. It is Middengarde, or Midgard. The other spheres had their own places on the Tree of Life, but Altheim was central to the collection, just beside the Middle World. You might even believe that they were twins, though unseen to each other.

The third and fourth statue, were of a heavy-set man, grey of body, but clad in silver, heavy plated armour, with grey mail beneath. In his hands, he gripped a huge stone axe, double ended, and looking highly menacing. To his side, stood an Elven woman, who seemed a normal looking female, to Ethelwulf, never having seen an Elf before, until he saw that she looked slimmer and gentler than any woman he had seen before, and her ears protruded from beneath long flowing hair. Both the man and the Elf's hair had been painted in a coat of brilliant white, which made Ethelwulf look down at his own beard and fluff it up so that he could get a good look.

'What had happened to me?' He thought, both admiring the statue and looking oddly curious about the whole scenario, 'perhaps I will wake up in a few hours, maybe I just had little too much ale?' In his heart, however, he knew this was not going to happen. The pain and hunger he felt was very real, and it ached his bones. No dream did that.

The fifth statue was of a beautifully carved White Wolf, painted with Silvery freckles across its coat, so that the glimmers of subordinate it from the upper windows, made the hair seem to glisten and sparkle under its rays.

'That is the White Wolf of the Silver Door.' Elder Jargrun spoke, and as he did he placed his hand over his heart, as he noticed the guards do likewise. What made him uncomfortable, was when they first looked at the White Wolf, and then turned that same look back to him. He quickly brushed this off and put a foot forward as to hurry them on again, trying to get away from this hall, now. The Elder Priest acknowledged his impatience and hurried off again. They passed many more statues, each one eight times the size of the tallest man, and each grey and silver. Men, women, Elves and a short stubbly warrior, wrestling a Giant, which made Ethelwulf think back to his friend in the courtyard; and hoped that he had not been taken away for execution. 'I would like to thank that man,' he thought as they reached the very end of the Hall of the Elders.

When they opened a smaller door at the far end of the Hall of Elders, seen all the many wonderful statues that told a tale of war, death and victory. Through the last door, long stairs descended downwards, lit only by faint lanterns on the walls. Each riveted lantern was a fair distance from the last and so many of the stairs were in almost darkness.

'Careful of your step.' Warned Elder Jargrun, who had kept his cowl and hood covering his grey hair the whole time. As they descended, Ethelwulf heard dripping water, and a distant rushing of streams, wondering how close to the rivers he saw that meandered through the huge city. Where some of them underground? How far underground were they going?

'Just through this door, Wolf.' And Ethelwulf realised that that was how he was known now, until he corrected someone, he was the Wolf. The one who had killed the Sleeper in the courtyard and amazed the people. He did not feel like a hero, with these spears at his back and whispers behind, in the dark. The Elder Jargrun pushed open the smaller door and stopped underneath it to enter what was to be the Inner Sanctum.

It was dark, not too dark to see, but you had to squint if you wanted to see the farthest corners. The light had changed down here as well, lanterns still lit the many rooms, but not a dim orange glow, this time the light was greenish, sometimes turning to blue. Nothing he had ever seen in his lifetime, an extraordinary, mystical Sanctum. Around the central room, were dozens of doors, some of which lead to laboratories, some to meditation rooms, others to libraries and the rest to bedrooms and places to rest one’s head. Ethelwulf assumed that this is where the Elder Priests who ran this Cathedral ate, slept, prayed and rested. It was something deferent indeed, but dark, gloomy, creating a sense of existential grimness. 'Perfect for reflection,' he supposed.

'Blast it! Buggering! Hell!'

Someone shouted from a distant room and, Ethelwulf span around to try and guess where the sound was coming from. What he did notice however, was that the guards had close the door behind them and left and now it was just him and Elder Jargrun in the Sanctum, with whatever person was making those sounds.

There was a mild explosion, followed by further cursing, which was then proceeded by a heavy grey mist, that seeped through one of the farthest doors, blowing out several lanterns.

'That must be Lethan, hard at work as usual.' Elder Jargrun shook his head and scratched the top of his cowl. 'Lethan! Come out you old coot!' He yelled over a series of smaller, quieter cracks and explosions.

Nobody answered, and the Elder Priest went to the door to see just what the commotion was, when a sound came from yet another room just to the side of them, 'come in, come in!' It called, in a strangely familiar accent to Ethelwulf.

Elder Jargrun heaved open the wooden door, that swing with a creaking hinge, allowing them to see a small library with several stacked bookshelves and tables. Hunched over one of them, was a man in grey coloured cloth, like a Monk's habit. He was scribbling notes on a long stretch of parchment, and only looked up from his work when they stepped towards him. He was old, but still a fair decade younger than Elder Jargrun, the lines by his eyes and forehead were not as pronounced and deep. His hair was the same shade of brilliant white, as both Ethelwulf himself and the White Wolf statue; a greater shade of white he had never seen before. The old man seemed oddly familiar though, somehow, or perhaps some when, Ethelwulf thought he might have seen him before. Yet, then again, how many old men do you pass every day and see a pale reflection of someone you once knew?

'Ah, new friends I see, come here,' and with that, Lethan held out a wrinkled and gnarled hand, offering the newcomer a handshake. Ethelwulf return d the gesture, but as soon as his skin was about to touch Lethan's, instead it touched only smoke. His hand simply passed right through the old man's, leaving a wispy hand that reformed almost immediately, before starting to disappear completely. Within seconds the old man had vanished into smoke, that ebbed away into the corners of the room.

There came a raucous of utter delight and laughter from the adjacent room, and Lethan, a wholly full form, and not a spectre, came rushing out, almost doubled over with laughter.

'Did it work? Did it truly work this time? Oh my, my, my, please tell me... it worked!' The old man had tears in his eyes and his face had gone a bright red, almost the same shade that Ethelwulf's had turned. The old man, Lethan, had long white hair, that tangled in clumps, downwards until it matted slightly with the edges of beard, that had clearly never been trimmed and styled and hung below the old man's chest, ending in a curl at his stomach.

Elder Jargrun was not impressed at all, 'you bloody fool, you'll kill us all! How many times-' but he was cut off by a bellow of laughter, as Lethan cried and cried in hysterics.

'Oh my, my, what fun!' Lethan wiped his eyes of tears and sucked up the last of his laughing with a deep breath. 'So, who is our new friend... I...' but the old man stopped, when he saw the bright white hair and beard on Ethelwulf's red face.

'This,' Elder Jargrun half-sighed, half-moaned, 'is Ethelwulf. A prisoner, as I understand, he was captured as a spy on the Southern Shore. The guardsmen saw nobody else with him, nor a ship, simply nothing.'

'Ah,' Lethan let out one of the longest sighs of acknowledgment, 'now that certainly is interesting.' And a long smile grew along his face, deepening the wrinkles on his cheeks.

'I heard the crowds chanting your name, they believe you to be the Wolf I hear. Now let me look at you.'

Lethan came close to Ethelwulf and began touching his hair and his face. Of course, all of this made him very uncomfortable.

'Yes, yes... tell me... do you remember how you got here?'

Ethelwulf shook his head, trying to avoid the old man's wandering fingers, through his hair, over his many scars on his neck and cheeks.

'I see, I was the same when I arrived, but that cleared after a few hours,' Lethan went on, 'though I take it from your befuddled gaze, that you remember very little?'

Again, Ethelwulf shook his head. Lethan moved around him now, looking at his clothes, and the dyes, the patterns and the marks, trying to determine some way of attaining an identity to the stranger.

'Saxon?' He asked, watching Ethelwulf's face closely.

It took some seconds to reply, but he soon did, 'yes, that's right... Northumbria.'

Why did that ring such a clear bell in his head, Ethelwulf thought, as he knew very little about his life prior to awakening on the beach, save for seeing a painting, a moving painting, through cloudy eyes?

'And your mother's name?' Lethan asked.

Ethelwulf shrugged, but knew something, 'but she was Saxon.' This was the most he spoke since his arrival, it was a deep tone, slightly cracked, but deep and powerful voice. One which could bark, or howl.

'I see, so you do know something, tell me, your father also?'

'No.' Ethelwulf replied, not knowing how he knew this, but know it he did.

'No I would think not, you have a very Norse look about you.' Lethan noticed, referring to the stranger's rather bulbous nose, tall stature and naturally broad shoulders. 'Unlike myself, you see us Britons were always a rather stuporous race, slim and strong, but not so inclined to height as yours.'

'Tell me, what exactly do you remember?' Enquired Lethan, still staring at him like one of his obscurities in his laboratory. Adding, 'every detail, however small.'

Ethelwulf stretched back his mind, calming the world around him, and tried to think back to the very early hours of the day.

'I... remember a storm. I remember a very violent and terrible storm... the seas, were so rough... I remember... a woman and child, they were in the storm, and...' in his mind’s eye, he saw his own hands, struggling with ropes and trying to calm the huge Knarr, a longboat of sorts, across a tumultuous cascade of waves. He remembered the foam breaking on his hands and stinging, he remembered the pain of the ropes, burning against his skin.

'I... can see a distant moon, but no land... just an endless sea of wrath... and then nothing.'

'Ah, well-'

Lethan was about to interject, when Ethelwulf continued, some mementoes restoring, 'no, not nothing! There was a huge wave... it toppled the ship, everyone fell into the sea... there was screaming. I was screaming, I was trying to save the woman and her child, when... they were lost... and then... and then... light, bright light on the sea, a magnificent silvery light!'

Intrigued as he was, Lethan urged him to continue, and there was excitement in his eyes.

'But it wasn't a light, not death, not death, not death, but... but a door! I opened the door and then... I cannot remember.' Ethelwulf finished, feeling a surge of pain rush through his right temple, forcing him to wince.

Lethan tried to comfort him, 'it's alright, it's quite alright.' He spoke softly, 'I have seen the very same door.'

'Lethan, I need to know-' demanded Elder Jargrun, but he was swiftly cut off by Lethan, who started barking orders at the Priest and shuffling him out of the room.

'Get out, get out, can't you see the man's in pain, your inquisition can wait until the morning!'

He was waving his arms about and pushing the other man out into the hallway where the winding staircase was, and the guards, some pressing their ears to the door and trying to listen. One of them received a bruise on his face when Lethan kicked the door open and pushed them all together, ordering them to leave.

Meanwhile, Ethelwulf was in such pain, that he began to let out a mewing sound, before the floor came rushing up to meet him with a terrific thud.

Lethan span around to see what had happened, when Elder Jargrun pulled his habit close and said, 'find out if he is a spy!'

'Get. Out.' Barked Lethan once more and pulled the door s**t towards him, heaving a heavy sigh of relief, letting out the words, 'Bloody Priests!'