LET THERE BE DRAGONS (COMPLETED)

Chapter Thirty-One: Of a Sword and a Dragon

The oldest historian of heart entered the hall--slump-shouldered, exhausted, and irritable. He was wearing an inexpensive, simple white dress, which matched his long white hair and white eyebrows. His skin was pale with age, and the veins in his forearms seemed to be shining blue.

"Hello," Blikrot said. "Welcome to the emperor's castle, historian."

"Why did your men bring me here? I never leave my cottage. I'm way too old for all this," the historian said.

"I need you, specifically because you are old. What's your name?" Blikrot asked, attempting to be polite.

"What's matter to you? Tell me what you need and let's be done with it," the historian said. He was no big fan of Blikrot. But then, who ever was?

"As you wish. Tell me about the Shadowblade," Blikrot said. The control he was being able to exert on his anger amazed him.

"What about the shadowblade?" It was evident that the historian was surprised.

"Everything that you know about it, historian. Is it a myth or a reality might be a good place to begin with."

The historian was silent for a while. Then he asked, quietened by introspection, "How long have you suspected it?"

Blikrot raised one eyebrow. 'It definitely isn't just a myth then,' he had the time to think, before asking, "Suspected what?"

"That I know about the Shadowblade?"

"Oh, for a long time now," Blikrot bluffed. "And that's why, you have to tell me the truth. Because, if you lie, I'll just rip your tongue out of your mouth."

"You don't need the Shadowblade. I know you went to the Forest of Falling Leaves. Stop this abysmal quest for power, Blikrot," the historian said, looking directly in the eyes of Blikrot. He wasn't afraid of the king and he wanted to convey that. He had had a long, satisfactory life, he was ready for death now. But he wouldn't be commanded by a bogus emperor.

Blikrot understood the historian all too well, and changed his game. "Your family...it's a beautiful family," he said, glaring back at the historian, a hint of a grin forming on his blackening lips.

The historian gulped. "Okay. I'll tell you what I know," he said.

"Good decision," Blikrot smirked. He hadn't been sure that this old ghost even had a family...but bluffing worked well most of the times.

"You would know that there was once a time when everyone thought that the Forest of Falling Leaves was just a myth, an element to enrich our folklore," the historian said. "But that didn't stop the brave from seeking it out. And one day, it was, indeed, found. Historians wrote about it. Some people accepted its existence. Others dismissed it. The same goes for the Temple of Eclipse, and the Shadowblade that it houses.

I don't know if anyone has found it yet, and I don't think anyone has managed to, but you can be sure that the brave have been looking for it for ages. Far too many stories with the Shadowblade in it. It's not a myth for sure.

If you analyze all such stories, you find that most of them say that the Temple of Eclipse is a cold, dark place. I believe it's situated somewhere in the Glaciers..."

"In the Glaciers!" Blikrot interruoted, incredulous. The Glaciers was a merciless landscaoe of endless snows and frightening cliffs. It was almost impossible to believe a Temple could exist there.

"Yes, sir, in the Glaciers," the historian continued.

"But who would build..." Blikrot began.

"No one knows. But you can be certain this Temple was not built by a human. Legend says the Temple of Eclipse was built by the God of Darkness himself, to challenge all the Temples of the Sun God and all the Shrines of the Dragons. And I kind of believe in it. Go to the Glaciers, find a Winter Dragon...and you'll find the Temple and the Blade."

"Why do I have to find a Winter Dragon?"

"Because I believe only a Winter Dragon can take a human being to the Temple of Eclipse. Feeling bad for all the dragons you slaughtered?"

"You can go now, before I pluck out your eyes," Blikrot said, smiling.

The historian started walking back, then turned. "One more thing," he said.

"What?"

"Don't go there alone."

***

In the deepest ocean that flowed through the secret Heart, the Imoogi woke up. And rage burned its scales, rage and grief, for all the brothers lost, all the sisters killed.

Of course, the Imoogi had no human memory inside its reptilian head. As it rose, like a leviathan, from the sea, waves broke from its wings, and a cloud gathered above its head. Thunder rumbled and rolled, lightening flashes were reflected on its scales.

The dragon flew, in a circle, above the ocean, and howled. It's ancient voice outweighed the thunder. And miles apart, other water dragons woke up, and began flying.

A rebellion was coming. Soon there would be war.