Homecoming - part two

            The trees whipped past Brogan in a blur as he spurred his horse harder and faster. Night had fallen, and the temperature along with it.  Great clouds of steamy breath billowed out of the tiring horse as well as from its rider.  They entered a clearing and he reigned in to give the horse a well-earned rest.  Brogan glanced around the small, empty clearing.  The trees of the forest rose high into the star-filled sky all around him.  The moon was out, so the clearing was well-lit.  No sounds were coming from the still forest save that of the wind-rustled leaves.  It seemed as if the forest animals knew of the presence of the dragonmen, and they all remained silent and safely hidden.  He had not even seen any wandering bands of trolls or any goblin campfires burning in the night.  It seemed that even the unnatural creatures of the forest were afraid to come out tonight.

            “These dragonmen seem to have quite a terrifying effect on the forest,” Brogan spoke aloud to himself.

            “That they do,” agreed a voice from behind him. Brogan yelled an old curse in surprise, and his horse reared up, throwing him from the saddle to the cold, hard earth. As soon as he hit the ground, he leapt up into a defensive crouch, his sword drawn quickly by instinct. Before him stood an old man wearing a soft, flowing brown robe and a thick, long white beard.

            “Now, now, put that thing away.  Do I look like someone who could harm a big strapping lad like you?” The old man smiled at him and waved away the sword as he helped Brogan to his feet.

            “Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you sneak up on me so easily?”

            “Oh, bother.” The old man’s face wrinkled in disturbed annoyance. “So many utterly useless questions. All that matters is that I am here to help. And my help is what you need if you plan to go to the cave where the dragonmen and their master are.”

            “What sort of help could you be to me?” Brogan asked, moving to his horse, already convinced that this was just a crazy old man whom he planned to humour for a while and then brush off and be on his way. The old man reached out to Brogan’s arm with a vice-like grip and spun him around. His beady grey eyes drove deep into Brogan’s, transfixing him where he stood.  “Now, listen to me! I do not have much time. I have brought you a gift, a sword, a magnificent sword. The Fincallis sabre.”  He spoke the sword’s name with a reverent pride.

            “What does the name Fincallis stand for?” Brogan interrupted hesitantly.

            “So many questions,” the old man looked slightly annoyed again. “This one, I will answer. Long ago, in a much different time, it meant ‘born of fire and ice.’ The sword is a powerful weapon… as powerful as its wielder makes it. The wielder uses his mind to control the sword.  Control over the elements of fire and ice. It can create a searing heat wave or a cold that would freeze the bowels of the nine hells shut for an eternity. It can summon great walls of flame or a tiny flicker, just enough to light the way. It can produce water to fill a lake or just enough to quench a parched man’s throat.  It can conjure mountains of ice or a small sliver to cool a refreshing drink. You get the picture, I am sure. I give you this gift because your heart is in the right place. I have looked for you for some time. You are worthy of its powers and have need of it if you hope to save this land from the Dragon.”

            At the mention of a dragon, Brogan opened his mouth to ask another pressing question, but the old man silenced him with a wave of his hand and spoke again.

            “You will take the sword and go back on your journey.” He pointed to a bundle on the ground a few feet away. Brogan went and picked up the bundle. When he turned back to face the old man again, there was no trace of him. The clearing was empty, and he could hear no sounds from the surrounding trees. Brogan shook his tired head and blinked his weary eyes, trying to tell himself that he had dreamed the whole encounter. The contrary evidence to that fact rested firmly in his hands. He held what felt like a large sword wrapped in a thick, woollen blanket. Brogan removed the covering and took a good look at the ornate sword the strange old man had left for him. It was a fine weapon indeed. The slightly curved blade was strong and had been well-sharpened. The blade felt supremely balanced in his grip, as if the hilt were explicitly made to his liking. There were symbols on the blade set just above the hilt. On one side, made from crushed sapphire jewels, was what looked like a small hunk of ice. On the opposite, crushed rubies were set in a pattern resembling a tiny flicking flame. Maybe what the old man said was true. If so, Brogan thought he would put it to the test. The night air was chilling, and he would welcome some warmth. Brogan tightened his grip on the sword's hilt and thought about being warm. Almost instantly, the hilt of the sword grew warm beneath his hand. The tip of the blade began to glow ever so slightly, and Brogan could feel the heat radiating from it. He decided to experiment a little. He pictured a bubble of warmth surrounding himself and his mount. Again, almost instantaneously, he felt a response from the sword. The cold breeze that had been biting across his face suddenly grew warm and comforting. His mount’s ears perked up in alert fashion when it noticed the sudden, unexplained change in temperature. It whinnied in disbelief for a moment, then decided that the heat, despite its unexplained presence, was far better than the biting cold wind, so it quieted down and relaxed its ears.

            “Amazing!” Brogan said aloud. “I would have never believed it if I had not seen, or rather felt it. We just might have a chance at getting King Govan back,” he said to his mount.  Brogan spurred on his horse with renewed confidence and rode out the rest of the night.

            For several days, Brogan continued to ride hard, only resting his horse when the animal absolutely needed it or when the lack of sleep took its heaviest toll on him. During these brief stops, he took time to practice with the magnificent sword’s powers.  At first, he had underestimated the power of the great weapon. Brogan learned the hard way that he would have to be in complete control of his thoughts when evoking the power of the Fincallis sabre.  During his first practice session, he decided to try and burn a craggily dead limb off a large oak tree.  He figured that it would take a fair-sized burst of flame to blast it free of the truck, and when he pointed the tip of the sword at the limb, the whole oak erupted into a gout of flames. The heat from the blaze nearly suffocated Brogan and his horse as the flame drew in all the oxygen around the tree to feed its growing might. Had Brogan not been alert and fast enough to douse the tree with a blast of chilling cold water, he might have burned the whole forest to the ground.  From that moment on, he was more specific with his thoughts. After a few days of performing simple tasks, lighting campfires at night to warm him as he slept or supplying himself and his horse with fresh water to drink, Brogan began to become quite adept at using the sword’s vast power.  He wished he had more time to practice with the blade’s abilities, but he was nearing only a half-days ride from the mountains. The rocky peaks of the great mountains loomed above the tops of the forest. His goal was in sight.

            He decided it would be best to rest out the day in a small village at the foot of the mountains and head up in search of his king in the morning. He had explored all over these mountains during the past ten years of his wandering and figured that the most likely place for the dragonmen to be camped would be in the vast cave structures located near the base of the mountain’s most prominent spire. The old man who gave him the sword confirmed this when he mentioned the ‘Dragon’ and his dragonmen being ‘in the cave’. The caves were just beyond the better part of a few hour’s walk from the village to the base of the mountains.  He would leave his horse behind in the village and then proceed on foot to the caves. There, he would face the greatest challenge he had ever had to face.  He knew he would, most likely, have to kill many of the dragonmen in order to free his king.  This fact nearly made him turn back and head home. Aleara’s words again took a tight hold of his heart. “Please don’t abandon him, not again.” He heard over and over in his mind’s eye. “No! Never again”, he resolved and spurred his horse on toward the village with renewed strength.  The sooner he got this over with, the better.

            He reached the village shortly after the sun had dipped below the tree line, plunging the world into darkness again.  Fortunately for Brogan, the moon was full.  Oddly, no lights were coming from the settlement.  As he entered the village, the wind picked up, and the rank and fetid smell of death and decay washed over him, nearly making him sick.  He moved quickly through the village and saw the bodies of the villagers.  This village had been among one of the first to be attacked by the dragonmen.  Now, the dead were half decayed, as bare bones stuck out from grisly wounds, with greying flesh hanging loosely off them, reflecting the pale light of the moon.  They appeared as though most of the bodies had been savagely torn apart, and some looked as though they had been partially eaten.  The sight was more than Brogan’s heart could take.  Tears flowed down his strong face, and his hands shook with rage.  Why did the world have to be this evil?  What was the reason for all this suffering?  The eyes of a small girl pleading to him filled his vision, and his anger grew.

            He could not let these poor souls remain out in the open to decay and be ravaged by the forest scavengers.  But there was no way that he could bury the entire village himself.  His anger grew again in him, and Fincallis, strapped to his side, grew warm against his thigh.  Brogan’s frustrations mounted, and his hatred for the dragonmen reached new levels.  Fincallis turned from warm to uncomfortably hot against his leg.  He looked down at the blade.  Its metal was glowing; a bright red light swirled within the rubies on the blade.  The sword’s heat and anger matched Brogan’s.  He drew Fincallis from his waist and released both their angers.  He moved through the village, burning everything he passed, all the while seeing the poor little girl that he had no answers for so long ago.  The heat became intense as the flames grew higher and higher.  It was not a proper burial for the villagers, not what they deserved, but it was all he could do for them. He said a quick prayer for the poor souls when he was finished.  Brogan was tired, but his soul would not let him stop.  He rode quickly to the foot of the mountains as his grief and anger for the poor villagers subsided. He looked back at the forest toward the village he had just cremated. His old instructors would not have approved of his actions making such a large and visible display so close to an enemy encampment.  He muttered an oath under his breath and looked up at the thick, low-lying clouds that had rolled on in the evening sky and now mixed with the grey glut of smoke that rose from the smouldering village. Thankfully, these clouds effectively blended well enough with the smoke that the dragonmen should be unable to discern the smoke from the clouds at this distance.  Luckily for him, the flames of his wrath were not high enough to cast an alarming glow over the ancient oak trees surrounding the village.  All things considered, his rash actions in the village seemed as though they had not derailed his task before it had even begun. If his luck held, the dragonmen would not know he was coming.  It appeared that things were starting to go in Brogan’s favour. He hoped that his luck could hold out just a little bit longer as he dismounted his steed and made his way up the rough path leading to the caves, uttering one last self-denigrating oath.

 

*          *          *

 

            The path was almost the same as he remembered it.  The underbrush had grown a little thicker over the years since he had last tread along this trail. He had no trouble following the path that led up to the caves.  In less than an hour, he had reached a small plateau that overlooked the mouth of a small cavern, which served as the only entrance into the network of caves. The mouth on the rock face below him opened into a smaller grotto that served as an anti-chamber to the next and most enormous hollow in the cave formation.  Jutting off this massive cavern, several small tunnels opened into dozens of even smaller anti-chambers.  They, too, had tunnels that ran out into other, even more minor fissures. The cave structure continued like this throughout the heart of the mountain. The whole thing reminded Brogan of a giant complex beehive. Only it appeared that there were more dangerous things than bees occupying this particular hive. He looked down from his perch to the larger expanse of plateau extending from the main cave entrance. This plateau was covered with the bodies of sleeping, lounging, or eating dragonmen. The camp appeared to be divided into two distinct sections. The largest section of the camp comprised the creatures that had first attacked the forest kingdom. They were smaller than the dragonmen that had taken the king and sported no wings.

            A smaller portion of the camp, much closer to the mouth of the cave, was where the winged dragonmen sat hunched over around great bonfires, trying to keep warm in the cold mountain climate. All totalled, Brogan figured there were over a thousand of these creatures sprawled out on the plateau. He searched the various groups of sleeping or eating dragonmen, but there did not appear to be any sign of the king.

            The dragonmen were so highly confident in their power that they did not post any guards or sentries around the camp’s perimeter, simply going about their business secure in their superiority.

            An extensive pathway led off the plateau just below where Brogan was hiding. He crouched lower behind the thick brush as a group of dragonmen suddenly appeared on the pathway, emerging from the darkness. Behind them, they pulled a large, wheeled metal cage filled with terrified humans. From their clothing, Brogan concluded that they were Collmanites.  The dragonmen headed for the mouth of the small cavern. Brogan decided to follow them, being sure to stay in the shadows of the rocks. He figured that wherever they were taking, the caged Collmanites would be an excellent place to start looking for King Govan.

            Over the years of his wandering, Brogan had taken significant measures to learn to keep himself from being seen.  His practice seemed to have paid off as none of the creatures near the entrance saw him enter the cavern behind the group of caged Collmanites. The first cavern was lit by several burning torches stuck in cracks in the walls. There were no dragonmen inside the cavern, save the ones pulling the frightened caged humans. It appeared as though all remained outside on the extensive plateau. Brogan remained a safe distance behind as they continued to the back of the small cavern to an opening that led down into the largest cavern. An eerie green glow was emanating from the entrance of that cavern. Brogan approached it with caution after the caged captives and dragonmen entered. His adrenaline was high, and his thirst for the adventure was beginning to take hold, driving back his revulsion of the killing that he was sure would soon come. He entered the green glow-filled cavern, staying in the deepest shadows where possible. It was a large, primarily circular cavern.  The ceiling was lost in the darkness above, and the back wall was approximately five hundred feet from the entrance. Several circular plateaus were running around the circumference of the cavern; each one extended further out as they went down into the cavern, like a series of giant circular steps. They reminded Brogan of the seats in the Colosseum, where he had fought his challenges as spectators cheered on from their seats.  The highest of the plateaus started just above the cave entrance, as the others spread out below.  The dragonmen pulled the caged humans down a winding path that joined the many plateaus, heading down into the belly of the cavern. Brogan climbed up onto the highest plateau and circled in the shadows about halfway around to the side of the cavern, where he noticed what was producing the eerie green light that illuminated the cave. A giant green gemstone was on one of the lowest plateaus, roughly twenty to thirty feet below him.  It glowed eerily from within, a deep, radiant green light.  It was a beautiful gem mounted upright in a pile of crumbled rocks.  He figured the massive stone to be nearly a foot taller than he stood, and it was wide enough for two good-sized men to be barely able to join hands around it.

            The spectacular gem held his attention for a brief moment until he managed to tear his gaze from its captivating beauty. Just as the dragonmen reached the bottom of the cavern, about fifty feet below the entrance, they stopped the cage and stood waiting.  Shortly after, a deep and raspy voice spoke to them in a language that Brogan could not understand. It was an evil sound like metal scraping against stone. It chilled Brogan to the bone and froze him to the spot momentarily. Just as he recovered his nerve, the figure the terrible voice belonged to stepped out of the shadows into the green light, and Brogan’s nerve disappeared again. Brogan noted that the raspy voice belonged to a dragon… a real dragon… an enormous dragon. The old man had mentioned a dragon, but Brogan figured he had meant one like the creatures assembled outside. This beast was at least ten times the size of a giant ox, not even counting a long tail that remained hidden in the shadows, and its wings would easily span a hundred feet when unfolded. It had a long, slender neck crowned with a thin, spiny head.  It was covered with scales like the ones the dragonmen had, only much more extensive and certainly more robust. The dragon strode further out of the shadows on short, powerful legs that sported bony fingers and foot-long claws until it was almost directly below Brogan. “What was a dragon doing here?” He thought to himself. Dragons have not been seen in this part of the world for thousands of years. It had been so long since one had been seen it was as if they were only a myth from the past. The great beast spoke again in its dreadful voice, and the dragonmen began to pull the now screaming humans from their cage. They clubbed the defenceless Collmanites mercilessly and laid out their unconscious bodies, evenly spaced, in rows before the great beast. Brogan drew in his breath, hoping they were not to be the dragon’s dinner, for he could not bear to watch such a gruesome sight. Expecting the worst, he braced himself to spring into action, although he did not know precisely what form that action was going to take.  Instead of feasting on the unconscious people, the dragon ordered his minions to leave the cave.  All who remained in the cavern now were Brogan, the unconscious humans and the mighty dragon.  A slight movement on the far side of the cavern floor suddenly caught Brogan’s attention.  Sitting uncomfortably in a cage, on the opposite side of the rows of humans from the dragon, just at the edge of the gemstone’s green light, was King Govan.

            The Dragon spoke again, this time in a human tongue, although it sounded no less frightening than the grating noise it had made before.

            “Soon now, little King, you will see the answer to the question of where I got my army from,” the dragon chided King Govan, obviously picking up from a previous conversation. “I will demonstrate to you the power of the crystal. You will see what I can do with it. You see why I had to imbue all my magical might into the stone to cast my spell on the gem. Giving up all my power like that was not without great risk, but it was necessary to complete my work.  I will reclaim it once my creation is done, but for now, I am all but powerless. Of course, by then, my army will have complete control over all your people so that it will be worth the risk.” That was a good thing to hear, Brogan thought. At least the dragon did not have its magic to fight with. He would only have to contend with its long, talon-like claws, crushing dagger-filled bite, and presumably the searing fire of its breath if this beast was anything like the stories of old. Brogan wondered what was so unique about the gemstone. Why had the dragon weakened itself by expelling all its powers into the gem? Brogan’s question was answered as the dragon spoke a command to the stone in its own tongue, and the green light dimmed slightly.  Then, the unconscious people lying on the cavern floor began to glow the same eerie green as the gemstone.

            With Brogan’s excellent eyesight, he could see what was happening to the people and the expression of abhorrence on his King’s face, an expression that matched Brogan’s own. The glowing forms began to writhe on the ground as they were being transformed. As soon as the glow appeared on them, small scales began to grow over their skin. They were stretching out longer, and their muscles grew larger and thicker. Their fingers cracked and grew long as their skin stretched tightly over their bones. Small claws began to protrude from their fingers, and their faces began to resemble that of the dragonmen outside.

            “You see, my good King,” the dragon said with what looked like a smile on its toothy maw. “This is where my army has come from. This lot will continue to evolve for several days into their full glory, just as that mass of them outside on the plateau is until they reach the point of my first trans-mutated followers. The dragonmen that abducted you and brought you to me. I have only a handful of them right now, but soon, all my subjects will be completely transformed and unstoppable. I will rule this world as I should have long ago.”

            “Why did you take me?” The king spoke angrily to the mighty dragon, not allowing his fear to show, as was the sign of a good, strong leader.

            “I brought you here to give you a choice. You can return to your people and order them to surrender to me, to be transformed and added to my army. Or you can refuse, and I will simply attack your cities and transform them anyway. I am sure that if that were to happen, many of them would find their deaths during the battle.  The transformation part, of course, is inevitable. I am allowing you to save many lives and make the process easier for your people. You can save them a great deal of suffering. What way will you have it? Peaceful subjugation or pain and terror first?” The dragon asked, although he probably already knew the answer.

            “My people will fight until the last man, woman, and child is dead!” was King Govan’s only response.

            “I thought as much,” the dragon replied piously.

            “So now you can kill me and get it over with,” the king spoke with a defiant edge in his voice.

            “No, I wish for you to remain alive. You will see the suffering that you could have prevented.” The dragon laughed, or at least that is what Brogan figured the horrifying sound was. Brogan could not allow this to happen. It was time to get involved. While listening to the dragon boast to his king, Brogan had ample time to formulate a plan… not much of a plan, but it was all he had.

            He noticed that the rocks and boulders on the side of the plateau directly above the dragon were loosened from the sides of the cavern walls. He searched the plateau he stood upon, noticing several deep crevices in the hard rock. Thrusting Fincallis down into the largest of the cracks, he drew upon the sword's power and filled the crack with a wedge of ice. He then focused his thoughts concentrated on widening the wedge of ice. A moment later, a thunderous crack echoed through the cavern. The dragon looked up just in time to see a massive chunk of plateau hurtling down upon him, bringing with it an equally massive rockslide amidst a great, billowing cloud of dust. Brogan took advantage of the concealing cloud of dust and headed to the cavern's opening. Concentrating his thoughts on a wall of ice, he struck the sword against the ground in the middle of the opening. An exceptionally thick wall of crystal blue ice formed, completely blocking the opening. Effectively sealing himself in with his king and the dragon. He would not have to worry about any dragonmen joining the battle, for now at least. The one in this cave with him would be hard enough to deal with on its own. Brogan turned and peered down into the darkness at the cavern's floor. The dust was settling, and he could make out the struggling form of the dragon. The entire back half of its massive body was covered by the rockslide and positioned directly on the centre of the dragon’s back, pinning its great wings, was the most extensive section of the plateau that had caused the rockslide. Only the dragon’s front legs, neck and head remained unburied. Had the dragon still retained its magical powers, escaping from the massive rock pile would have been a simple task. In its weakened state, however, the weight proved too much, as Brogan could see that its struggles were in vain. The rocks were simply too heavy. That was good news. Brogan rushed along the upper plateau and leapt over the considerable gash he had made in it. The dragon heard him running this time and looked at what had caused the rockslide and the wall of ice now blocking the cavern’s entrance.

            “You will die for this filthy human!” It shrieked at him. Then the dragon took a deep breath and billowed a great blast of searing flame up at Brogan. Gaining control of his instinctive need to leap out of the way, Brogan pointed the tip of Fincallis at the ball of flame speeding up toward him. Brogan released the sword's power as soon as the first lick of flame touched the blade's tip. The blast of flame froze solid, starting at the point where it touched the blade, all the way back to the dragon’s mouth, filling it with ice. The dragon bit down angrily, cracking the ice in its maw and screamed in anger. Instinctively, Brogan concentrated on sending out his own burst of flame, quickly hurling a great goutte of fury at the mighty creature. The dragon recoiled as best it could, given its current predicament… not accustomed to being on the receiving end of such a deadly stream.  It bellowed again in anger and disbelief, but the flames did little to harm him.  Generations of evolution had well designed his thick scales to handle the heat of the fiercest of flames. It began to writhe and scrape away at the rocks covering its body, pushing great mounds of debris away.  Brogan had to act quickly before the dragon could work itself free. Indeed, the stones would not hold him much longer. He slid down the side of the slopped cavern wall from the plateau he was on to the one below where the dragon’s crystal was perched.  Walking up beside the large gem, he placed Fincallis’s tip against the glowing surface and began his plan. Hoping he could complete it before the dragon could free itself. If that happened, he would have to fight the creature with sword and might, which was not his preferred course of action. Brogan concentrated on his weapon and the stone. The light in the great gem flicked slightly, then turned a slickly green, and the gem seemed to shudder visibly.

            “What are you doing?” The dragon shrieked again, this time not in an angry tone but in sheer panic. “Get away from that!” Its voice verged on a pleading tone.

            Ignoring the Dragon’s panicked outburst, Brogan concentrated his every thought on heat. An intense heat. He envisioned the sun and the tremendous heat that its core produced. He channelled as much as possible through the sword and into the gem.  Sweat broke out on his forehead, both from the heat as the stone grew hot and the effort of concentration it took to generate the power the sword needed.  The gem’s green light faded and was replaced by a red glow that turned into a brilliant blue and, finally, a blinding white.  The Dragon screamed in a strangled, unintelligible whine as it redoubled its efforts to pull itself out of the crushing rock heap.

            Gathering the last of his will together, Brogan abruptly changed his thoughts from intense heat to an extreme cold.  A cold like the frozen wastes of the northern seas. Chilling, bone-snapping cold, like death’s icy touch. The glow of the crystal disappeared abruptly. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment as even the dragon had fallen silent and still. Then suddenly, a small crack appeared on the gem’s flawless surface, followed by another and then another.  The cracks grew larger and larger until small pieces of the crystal began to fall to the ground.  The dragon roared one final time and pulled itself free from the rocks. Brogan raised Fincallis high above his head and, while fixing his gaze upon the dragon’s hate-filled eyes, thrust Fincallis into the heart of the gemstone.  It exploded instantly into a thousand tiny shards.  The force of the blast threw Brogan up against the cavern wall. Had he not been wearing his armour, the razor-sharp shards would have surly flayed the flesh from his bones. As it was, he suffered numerous minor cuts on his arms and legs.  He recovered his wits quickly, though, knowing the dragon had freed itself from the rocks just before he had shattered the gem. Preparing himself to battle the great beast in close combat, Brogan marched to the plateau's edge, Fincallis in hand, and looked down upon the great dragon. It stood motionless beside the large pile of rocks, with a blank expression on its ancient face. It stared, stunned in disbelief, at the spot where the crystal gem had been moments ago. Its jaw fell open, and it blinked its beady yellow eyes a few times.

            “All my power… in the crystal... gone!” It whispered. Brogan held his sword above his head and prepared to jump down upon the paralyzed dragon to deliver a death blow through its blinking eye and end the creature’s miserable existence.  His eyes meet the dragon’s gaze.  It looked on in fear, probably for the first time in its ancient life.  It was helpless, and it knew it.  They both knew it. Brogan lowered his sword and spoke.

            “Be gone from here and never return. This forest is protected by Brogan of Harmingla, wielder of fire and ice. Leave now while you still can!” He commanded and pointed Fincallis at the dragon. The great creature moved immediately for the icy blocked exit.  Brogan hurled a blast of flame from Fincallis that streaked over the dragon’s head and blasted the wall of ice, instantly turning it into a cloud of mist.  The dragon took flight through the cloud and out of the caverns, disappearing over the mountains, where it would likely live out the rest of its life in shame.  Shame at its defeat… a defeat at the hands of a single human.

            Brogan made his way to the cavern's floor, where he cut open the cage holding his king captive.

            “Once again, we all owe you our lives, my boy,” King Govan clasped Brogan’s hand in his with a proud smile spread across his face. They turned in unison when they heard weak moaning emanating from the partially transformed Collmanites, who had barely escaped being crushed by the massive rockslide.  Their features were slowly returning to normal, bony claws turned back to fingers, and scales fell to the ground, revealing human skin.  The Collmanites were back to normal and fully alert within a few minutes. Frightened and confused, they huddled together, expecting more dragonmen to enter the cave at any moment.  King Govan spoke to them to calm them down.

            “Be a rest, good people,” he spoke tenderly. “I am King Govan of Harmingla. This man beside me is Brogan, champion and protector of Harmingla.  He has defeated the evil that threatened our two Kingdoms. You can return with us to my city. We will give you food, rest, and supplies there and then send you back to your own homes when you are ready. The threat is no more.”

            The small crowd cheered and called out Brogan’s name.  They followed Brogan and King Govan out of the caverns onto the central plateau where the other Collmanites and Harminglans that had made up the bulk of the dragon’s army had reverted back to their natural human forms and stood milling about in fear and confusion. The Harminglans noticed their King and silenced immediately. The Collmanites followed suit, and soon, the king had their undivided attention. Again, King Govan related the daring tale of the dragon’s defeat and the large assembly called out as one in praise of Brogan… Brogan, the hero! They cheered him and carried him down the mountain… a long, jubilant throng taking their hero home.

 

*          *          *

 

            “And so, this is the tale of my homecoming and how it came to pass that I came into possession of the magical sword Fincallis. I had been able to avoid killing the dragon, and from that day on, I knew I would be able to protect my homeland again... my way! Perhaps in the future, I will be forced by situation to take the life of another. As for today, I can remain true to my belief that there is always a better way to resolve the hardships that we must face daily. I have found that clear thinking and simple human compassion can overcome many situations.

            After the dragon’s defeat, I led the gathered throng down from the mountain and headed back through the forest, pausing to pay our respects at the village I had cremated earlier. We all returned to Semellen, to a grand celebration, and to a princess with wedding bells in her eyes.  But that is another story.”

                                                                                                                Brogan, champion of Harmingla.