Roland of the High Crags - Books 1-3

Chapter 3-1

Innocence may mask the face of Evil

Innocence may mask the face of EvilInnocence may mask the face of EvilOnly the True Heart

Only the True HeartOnly the True HeartWill be able to love the one and resist the other.

Will be able to love the one and resist the other.Will be able to love the one and resist the other.FROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS

FROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANSThe jagged peaks of the High Kanris mountains rise from the plains and forests into the sky with little warning. A steep shield wall of hard stone suddenly appears in the distance as one rides across the rolling plains. The wall soars five thousand feet in a steep vertical angle into the odd blue-white colored sky. No matter how many times I leave the Kanris and return, catching the first glimpse of the rugged, towering face of the wall and observing the snow-capped peaks glistening in the sun always takes the breath from me.

Behind the shield wall are the Kanris mountains. To be more precise, a series of mountain ranges, perhaps fifty different mountain ranges in all, twist and turn like a den of snakes, make up the Kanris. I have traveled far and wide in this world and have seen much. From the swamps of the southern hemisphere, the fabled ancestral home of King Dragons and Winged Beasties, to the fabled Garanges mountains of the Far North, I have laid eyes upon many wonders. In the Garanges, it is said the gods live in splendid solitude, having won their war against man and deciding to withdraw from worldly concerns. Legends say that just before they withdrew, still smoldering from the rude abuse they had received from their young and arrogant creation, the gods decided to punish man for his insolence by creating their eternal tormentor and nemesis. So, from the fevered and unhealthy swamps of the southern hemisphere, the gods breathed life into dragon forms called King Dragons. For King Dragons to ride the skies and terrorize land dwellers, the gods gave them Winged Beasties.

Yes, I have seen the lonely and haunting beauty of the Garanges. And I find myself believing the stories about gods living in their cloud-filled heights. But Pilgrim, there is nothing like the breathtaking rugged beauty or the magnificent panorama of snow-capped splendor as one finds in the High Kanris. To ride a Great Wing freely through the steep-walled valleys and underneath the towering spires rising to the heavens is to know a bliss of sublime elegance. Strapped tightly in the saddle of a Great Wing as it rides on the buffeting winds and updrafts found among and below the peaks, one can see for leagues across mountainous ranges so rugged and so inaccessible, much of it has yet to be explored. Many of its valleys are still carpeted in ancient forests with leafy canopies in myriad shades of green and gold. There are mountain streams filled with a type of trout that measures as long as a man’s longest stride. On a clear, bright day, where no clouds mar the blue heavens, one can, in the distance, see small specks of wild Great Wings, in a rainbow splash of colors, whirling around as they hunt or simply wing from one rocky perch to another.

It was into these beautiful peaks and rugged valleys, as the legends go, that the god Shu’zhin guided the last survivors of man to safety from the onslaught of King Dragons and Winged Beasties. It was this god, this outcast from the pantheon of eternal gods, who first took wet clay and formed an image of himself, breathing the Breath of Life into it. This First Man became our ancestor, and, like his creator, this man became the curious seeker, the constant questioner, whom the older and wiser gods found to be so much of a nuisance.

Shu’zhin, called The Seeker, was an outcast in the eyes of The Immortals because of his constant search for forbidden knowledge. It was Shu’zhin, as my childhood teachers and masters oft told me as a young boy, who defied the older gods—the older gods who wished to see mankind destroyed. But after the Great Onslaught that marked the first clash between human and dragon, Shu’zhin led the few hardy human survivors into the High Kanris. Here, hidden deep in almost impassable crevices and narrow mountain trails, man found refuge from the plains surrounding the Kanris and from the hordes of King Dragons. It was here in the High Kanris where Shu’zhin angered the gods even more by creating the feathered opposite to the scaled hide and bat-winged creature known as a Winged Beastie. It was here where he took a Farrell Hawk, a small bird of the Farrell mountains, and used it as the basic shape from which he molded a Great Wing.

Aside from the Farrell Hawk, Shu’zhin gave the Great Wing the sharp-hooked beak from another in the hawk family. The ability to expand the beak is a weapon used with devastating effectiveness by a Great Wing. Razor-sharp talons from the dreaded Mountain Kral, an enormous eagle that rides the powerful currents in all of the mountainous regions, were also transplanted by Shu’zhin into this new creature. He gave it the ability to twist and turn in flight, and the ability to fly almost as high as the highest of mountain peaks found in any range on the planet.

But more importantly, he gave it an implacable dislike for Winged Beasties. Great Wings can out-turn and climb higher than Winged Beasties. Short, powerful wings give the Great Wing the power to burst into short dashes of unbelievable speed. Their heavier mass gives them the ability to fold their wings back and roll into a dive and plummet from the heavens like a stone.

That is not to say the serpent-necked monster is, in any way, inferior to that of a Great Wing. A Winged Beastie, riding on its enormous bat-shaped wings, can ride the winds of the forest or the mountains for hours on end, soaring across the landscape with a terrible grandeur so frightening, yet utterly hypnotic to behold. Because of their light build and enormous wings, they can remain aloft far longer than any Great Wing. Therefore, they can cover far more territory than a war bird.

Furthermore, the front paws of the scaled fire-breather are equipped with talons as razor-sharp as those found on a war bird. In the blink of an eye, they can rip to shreds any creature unfortunate enough to be caught by one. And never forget the Beasties’ most terrible weapon—the breath of fire. Tongues of blue-white flame bellow out from their mouths in a terrible fury. The fire can travel for more than thirty feet in a searing torch so hot even iron weapons melt if exposed to it for too long of a time.

Put all these abilities together into the body of an old, experienced fire-breather—a creature, by the way, every bit as intelligent and intuitive as a Great Wing—and you have a formidable opponent who should never to be taken lightly. Add an old and experienced dragon rider to the set, and you have a combination of foe who, as a collective species, have known martial success for over two thousand years.

Yet, Winged Beasties find it difficult to fly in the High Kanris. Much of the higher regions of the Kanris they cannot sail to at all. King Dragons likewise find the mountains unsettling. To King Dragons, evil spirits and evil gods live among the rocky peaks and windswept crevices. Dragonkind have good reasons to feel this way. Only twice, since man left the plains below and ascended into the mountains, have dragons attempted to breach the shield wall and invade. Each time they tried they were met with a stunning defeat. Defeat inflicted on them by a foe many times their inferior in numbers. Defeat so telling in each defeat the few survivors who escaped returned to their clans with incredible stories of mayhem and c*****e.

In the upper regions of the valley leading into the High Kanris, the Kingdom of the Vik reside. In the lower regions of the valley, where the valley opened out into the sweeping grasslands below the shield wall, one could find the lands of the Anktooth.

Now, the House of Anktooth was no more and the lands that belonged to that ancient clan now belonged to the Hartooth. There, consolidating his power and licking his wounds, Baron Hartooth’s army was regaining strength for the next assault.

The Great Rift Valley was one of only four major entrances in which dragon and Winged Beasties could ascend the heights. The other three entrances were hundreds of leagues away, with one being another rift valley which opened out onto the Black Tharassian Sea. The Hogar Marches lay to the north a good 700 leagues, and in those 700 leagues, there were no fewer than ten King Dragon baronies standing in the Hartooth’s path. To the south lay the winding, narrow gorge called The Spirit Way, which was actually a very steep c***k in the shield wall that ran for leagues into the Kanris. Each side of the gorge is a sheer rock wall perpendicular to the gorges’ floor. Raging down from the mountain was a massive river of incredible power and fury, fed by a monstrous waterfall towered over the river by more than a thousand feet.

The Spirit Way was called such because of the constant spray from the falls, which danced and whirled around eerily. And because of the roar of the falling water. The noise was deafening, the moving mist thick and clammy to one’s skin. The winding path carved out of one wall of the gorge was so narrow, a human warrior could scarcely traverse it. It was just wide enough for someone to slowly and carefully ascend up the gorge. Yet, one wrong move on the slippery moss-covered rocks, and the hapless would fall for a long time before he met his death on the rocks below. As it was, it would have been an almost impossible task for a dragon on foot to ascend the gorge. And for an army of dragons, the task was unthinkable. But even that path was guarded. The people who called the gorge The Spirit Way were said to be magicians and elves. They were neither human nor dragon, but a separate race altogether and practiced the arts of dark magic. It was oft said that those who entered this strange fog never emerged from it again. But often, the mangled and torn bodies of the dead would be glimpsed in the vicious whitewater rapids downriver some leagues from the opening. Not even humans ventured into the territory so renowned in its fabled evils.

Of the four entrances into the High Kanris, I was sure the very last choice the Hartooth would select would be The Spirit Way. Dragons were even more superstitious than humans. The idea of entering The Spirit Way and facing all the black magic therein would be the only thing that would terrify a dragon heart.

What had to be done—and done quickly—was to warn the Kingdom of Vik of their approaching hour of despair. King Olaf and his people, I knew well. Big men, with long locks of gold or black hair; their women all astonishing beauties and their men incredibly gifted with both physical strength and artistic talent. The Vik had guarded the Great Rift Valley for a thousand years, knew well the Clan Anktooth and the Clan Hartooth, and felt confident in their strength. Their favorite weapons were huge, two-handed broadswords and a battle-axe half the size of a man. Wielded by a skilled warrior, either weapon could eviscerate dragon or Winged Beastie if either ventured too close.