Chapter 1: Till it be morrow

  Tarn poured the ale in his mouth, some of the dull amber liquid sliding down the sides of his chin. His throat bobbed with each flood of alcohol until there wasn’t any more of the delicious distraction left and slammed down his cup. The table in the dark corner of Wheats tavern shook but no one paid him any heed.

  His light brown eyes like dry dirt stared into the dark empty well before he put his forehead against the cool wood of the worn-down table. Lia’s words traipsed through his mind now; her harsh tone telling him to stop wasting his coin every night, else he’d be on the streets someday.

  “Hugh! Another ale.” he said. Yet before the burlish man had the chance to acknowledge his order the doors opened and along with it a round of cheers. The other patrons woo’d loudly as though the alcohol had already affected their mental states, and they slapped their cups together. Drunkards they were, astonished by the mere sight of him.

  Windswept hair like a storybook prince, eyes that made women swoon in false distress, and a smile that held their hearts. Lior the great dragon marked of Folkheim. He watched as boots that had seen the action of a hundred years in only three swiftly and silently crossed the wooden floor that otherwise would have whined beneath the weight.

  Tarn turned away from the spectacle already aware of what was to happen next.

  “A round for everyone Hugh.” Lior said as he handed the barkeep a brilliant gold coin.

  “Must he be so outstanding.”

  “Praise be the dragon marked!” One of the patrons let out with a boisterous slurring of his words as he raised his cup to the ceiling. It didn’t long for the others to join the man chanting the line a few times.

  The young man then made his way towards Tarn. “It seems you have yet to take Lia’s words to heart.” Lior said with a smile flirting at the corners of his lips.

  Of course, Lia had taken her complaints to Lior. The damned candlemaker knew what cards to play. Yes, he enjoyed the warmth of a drink more than they did but he was far from becoming a vagrant begging on his knees because of it.

  Tarn brought his eyes up, already missing the table’s cold touch. Slender and refined could almost capture Lior’s appearance. Born with looks both beautiful and handsome he could wrap the love-seeking tightly around his finger. But Tarn wouldn’t make the mistake of forgetting the power that dwelled in his friend.

  “Lia enjoys telling tales, Lior. As your working eyes should see, I am more than fine.” Tarn said with a stoniness.

  “The trail of ale that my working eyes see tells a tale that resembles Lia’s very well.” Lior countered. “I won’t nag at your habits like a clingy lover Tarn. But how much coin have you spent here? How many hours have you sat in this mangy corner in the past month?” He said, his voice growing sterner with each word.

  Tarn tried to muster his voice, but nothing came. He looked down instead, unable to meet Lior’s gaze any longer.

  “I'm worried.” Lior said softly. Long gloved fingers started to fidget in the silence.

  Guilt like iron wires strung Tarn’s heart, cutting through his annoyance, and breaking the mask he tried to wear. He wasn’t being fair to Lior. Just because he could become something Tarn could not didn’t change who Lior was. The ale’s buzz fizzled into a mist leaving behind a soberness he hated.

  After a moment Tarn found his voice. “Fine. I will try, not promise, but try.” He relented.

  Lior smiled but it was different from the smile he showed off to his admirers. There was a relaxedness that radiated from it. “If that is all you’ll give it is all I’ll take.” He took off his leather gloves and settled more into his seat. “Have you eaten yet?”

  “Not hungry.” Tarn replied. His gaze stared for a passing second at Liors right hand, more so at the ink black mark the shape of a dragon's eye with a crescent moon and sun at its center. Then he peeked at his own flesh that was bare of such a gift.

  “Well, I am.” Lior waved at one of the serving girls and she rushed towards their table like a bird catching a worm.

  He must have been with the scouting squad since early morning Tarn thought. “Any trace of maladies?”

  The serving girl stepped next to them interrupting Lior’s answer. “One full plate if you’ll be so kind.” His words made the lady blush redder than a ripe apple in fall.

  “As you wish sir.” She said bashfully.

  To be born with such beauty Tarn lamented in his heart, that feeling of envy trying to claw its way up his stomach. But those feelings vanquished themselves as he looked at Lior, the man he’d known since childhood, the person he would always follow with only the will of his own.

  Lior began once more, his finger tapping lightly against the table. “There were some remnants of a malady deep into the forest; a scratch on stone and the land less lively but the chance of any drawing near the village is unlikely.”

  Tarn nodded at his words. A troubling feeling stirred in his mind, however. He roamed his gaze over Lior and felt something akin to secrecy. But Lior had never been the kind to keep secrets nonetheless from Tarn. So, he kept his doubt inside.

  The serving girl returned minutes later with a plate filled to the edges with food that made his mouth water. “Only the finest for a dragon marked.”

  “So . . . you were hungry.” Lior said, pointing his fork at Tarn. “One more pla-”

  Tarn raised his hand at the serving girl. “Thank you.” She took it as a sign to leave but only did so after glancing at Lior one more time. “Just eat your food.” Tarn said.

  Tarn watched Lior pick at his food, taking more time than most would to get through it.

  “You’re smiling.” Lior said in between bites. “Does my eating please you that much?” He joked.

  Suddenly beyond the tavern walls, the ringing of a bell like a groaning whale sounded throughout the town. The Malady bell.

  Already the men and women got up to their feet and rushed out the tavern heading towards the Fellowship building. Lior was no different with his steadfastness however, for a different reason.

  “Tarn, you go as well. I mean it!” He shouted as he sprinted out the doors.

  Tarn felt it odd that Lior seemed more nervous than in previous times Maladies dared to broach their town. Perhaps he should listen and reach the safety of the fellowship's sturdy walls. On the other hand, Lior was a natural worrier.

  Calmly Hugh had shut the doors back up and placed a solid piece of wood through the handles. The tavern owner then pulled with aged strength against the doors and let go satisfied with its stern hold.

  “Another ale Hugh, it’s going to be a long night.”

  Hours passed as the two waited for the bell to ring once more, to give them the sound that their town was safe again. “If I were out there. . .” Tarn said wistfully.

  With a sigh Hugh sat on the chair opposite to Tarn. “You know they're right.” His deep voice matched his burly face. “It may not be the ale that kills you, but the answer certainly will. A man can only be told they are not worthy so many times before either their desire kills them, or the false hope will.”

  Tarn let out a deep breath. “It’s all I ever wanted.” He raked his black hair back. “If I stop believing, hoping that the mark will finally choose me then what will I be? I- I’m not like you Hugh. My blood burns for this and nothing else will satisfy it.”

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  “Have you ever tried to turn away from it?” Hugh asked.

  Of course he had. What man wouldn’t doubt their hopes and dreams after being turned away so many times. “What do you think, oh wise barkeep? That I’m courting delusion like some wench whose heart returns to the same man that broke it.” Tarn spat out. “Let me keep this hope.” He finished pitifully.

  “When I was a young man, I had dreamed of becoming a knight, like any young man from a town such as Folkhiem. I traveled inwards to the kingdom's capital, answered the call of the knights, and at the end of that season I failed.” A chuckle escaped Hugh as his eyes seemed to glaze over. “Season after season I returned to the gates of the dragon-knights and time and time again I met failure. No matter how trained my body was, how desperate the fire in my heart had been, nor how much I begged the heavens above I never did succeed. Then. . . One fateful pouring night where I too sought companionship with the drink to dull my sorrows– I met her. Adeline, beautiful as a night dressed in stars with a name that matched it.”

  “May the heavens lay her to rest.” Tarn said respectfully.

  The times Hugh had talked about his late wife was so few a person could forget he had ever been married. But each time he did there was a detachment that made Tarn feel as though Hugh would become lost someday as well.

  “She was a knight Tarn. A damned good one.” Hugh said proudly even as a sheen of water poked at the corner of his eyes.

  Tarns' eyes blinked at the revelation.

  “And on that night, she saw my ugly mug and said, “You’re an awful drinker” and from then on, I stopped. Gave up trying to become a knight and returned back to Folkheim the next day.”

  “You gave up because a beautiful knight insulted you?” Tarn asked with his mouth agape.

  “No” Hugh leaned back against the chair. “Adeline made me realize I had been stuck at that bar for years like a rat caught in a trap. Years wasted because I refused to look forward. And that night I knew something had to change.”

  “Is this my night. Is that what you’re saying?” Tarn questioned.

  “Don’t be so full of yourself lad, it’s just an old man reminiscing.” Hugh’s eyes shut for a moment too long to be considered a blink. The wrinkles at the edges of his eyes showed themselves like the creaking of a door that long needed rest. “But it doesn’t mean you’re not in a place similar to the man I used to be.”

  At that moment a loud bang like a wild beast falling on its side dispelled the somber air inside the tavern. Tarn jumped from his chair while Hugh’s eyes snapped open. The two men waited with a growing chill inside their bones.

  This time the walls shook causing the paintings adorning the sides to smack against the floor. “Follow me quickly!” Hugh said hurriedly.

  Tarn did as he was told walking closely behind Hugh; they walked around the rattling bar into a dark hall far from the tables all the while a repeated slamming shook the tavern. He could feel the strength of each slam from whatever was outside grow more powerful.

  “Where are we going?” Tarn said with a pounding heart. They reached the end of the hall and came face to a black painted door that hid itself in the unlit area. The clinking of a key and the door opened revealing a staircase twenty feet deep.

  “Hiding. Strength like that doesn’t come from no youngling.” Hugh said as he moved down the steps. “Shut and bolt the door.”

  He did so without push back. Feeling about the door he grabbed cold steel; it was one of his locks. Hearing a click, Tarn turned and went to the bottom. Hugh had lit a small candle that brightened the small room. The walls were ruff stone with a couple sacks of food he assumed laying at the back.

  “Rrrraaaa”

  The things’ screech was a horrid mixture of a baby's cry and cutting of steel on steel. It made his heart incapable of easing its pace. “Those walls won’t last. Hells, seconds and that thing is going to rip it apart and then us.” Tarn’s breath was shaking yet heavy at the same time. “We have to find a way out of here and to the fellowship. Lior he- he will help us.”

  Hugh looked decades older at that moment as the candle's flame flickered shadows across his face. “If the Maladies made it this far into town then-” He left the end unsaid but Tarn understood what it meant.

  “Isn’t possible.” Tarn shook his head with delirium. “Lior, Sluter, and Marisol. Even if an army of those putrid wretches marched at our border, they would be burned to fucking nothing. We– we just have to find a way to get to them, to everyone else!”

  “Even if that were the case Tarn, the only way out is through those doors and past that monster waiting for us. By the weight of its strikes the thing is matured. We would be dead in minutes.”

  “So just hide and pray it doesn’t find us.” Tarn said as he sat against the wall. He placed his head between his sweaty palms.

  Dammit it all.

  Tarn watched as Hugh set down the candle and moved to the far end of the room. “If it comes to it, I’ll fight the bastard.” The sound of something heavy was lifted off from the wall Hugh stood at. Walking into the light of the flame Hugh held an axe; the long ornate handle carved from white oak, and the steel was blackened like burnt wood.

  “Dragon forged.” Tarns eyes widened.

  “Indeed.” Hugh said, sitting down opposite of Tarn. His hand ran down the weapon like it held memories kept secret. “It was Adelines. Often, she said Wildia loved the blood in the air.”

  Something crashed from above making Tarn and Hugh look at the staircase hidden by the dark. Slowly they stood up anticipating the harbinger of death to trample down the door. The shattering of wood followed by heavy thumps could be heard from above.

  Like a beast sniffing for the scent of its prey the Malady stalked above, and Tarn couldn’t feel his body anymore. He couldn’t bear to even breathe in fear that it would hear. They could only listen as the scourge above smashed the tavern to pieces.

  Then it quieted, becoming still as a dead animal. Controlled paced thumps came from the beast now. The wood lurching under the weight. Tarn stared at where the steps sounded from hearing it move closer to the stairs. It should be in the hallway now, Tarn thought. He stared wide eyed at where he heard it last. It stopped. . . why?

  Suddenly the steps went backward toward the middle of the tavern. It stopped again. Tarn turned to Hugh who looked on just as confused as him. Then the ceiling tore open as large claws split the tavern floor in half. Two large black eyes like coal dipped into the dimly lit room, large mandibles clicking as it reached down with the rest of its elongated body.

  “Run!” Hugh kicked the candle at the malady’s face, the melting wax sticking to its eyes causing it to screech a dreadful noise.

  Tarn ran up the staircase, his hand gripping the key as the monster’s wails mixed in with Hughs thundering yells. He hastily moved his hand on the door’s surface until he felt the keyhole. He stuck in the key twisting and slamming the door open. He ran like the wind, almost able to taste the safety past the wrecked entrance doors but before Tarn could open them, he heard Hughs gruff scream from below that forced him to stop. He looked at the gaping hole the malady created and the destruction of Hughs livelihood.

  His feet stood in a puddle of liquor and finally Tarn looked at himself. His face was that of a coward that could only think of himself. There was no bravery or heroism in his gaze.

  No wonder I’ve never been chosen. What dragon would want the soul of a gutless dreamer.

  A tight grip on his heart made him clench his teeth until his molars hurt. It was as though an invisible hand was snatching his breath. The feeling halted him, forcing him to question the decision at hand.

  Then he decided. Tarn rushed to one of the broken chairs grabbing a jagged piece before he could let doubt take hold. Setting his sights on the gaping floor he screamed as he ran and jumped into it. Bringing down the malformed piece of wood from above his head Tarn pushed the sharp edge down. He felt a squishy texture as the makeshift weapon pierced into the insect malady’s soft spot hidden between its hard shell. The monster reared up trying to scratch at Tarn. He used his other hand to push down the wood until he saw a thick black liquid ooze from its body.

  The monster bucked up launching Tarn off its back sending him rolling across the ground.

  Hugh took the opportunity to swing the dragon forged axe into the Malady’s Diamond shaped chest. The steel shattered its armored body as though it was no different from any other animal. The Malady screamed in agony as black blood poured from its ‘heart’.

  Tarn Pushed himself onto his side breathing intensely, a sort of pleasure rippling through his body as he began to laugh. With relishing eyes Tarn watched Hugh lodge Wildia into the Malady, ripping the axe back out then slashing the steel chilled by the black ooze through its limbs once more. Piece by piece, wound to wound, steel against the heart Hugh slaughtered the monster.

  “You crazy boy!” Hugh joined Tarn’s frenzied laughing as he stood over the dismembered corpse of the fallen evil.

  Hugh extended his hand and Tarn accepted the help. “Who needs a dragon marked huh.” Tarn said.

  “You're damned right.” Hugh responded.

  Tarn could still feel the excitement, the rush of glory burning in his blood even as they walked up the stairs. Opening the doors Tarn expected the night air to cheer them on but he saw the morning sky, yet it couldn’t have been morning as the moon’s presence still refused the sun's approach. Its white glow though had become veiled in blue. Tarn’s body trembled before falling onto his knees, his skin scraping against the rough ground as he gazed upwards.

  For the skies had been lit ablaze with an azure flame that consumed the stars.