Three islands lay like gleaming gemstones deep in Elif’s sea:
D’nim, Areth and Ulos, dwelling in fair harmony.
But discord once began to brew in caverns 'neath D’nim—
a fearsome creature came awake, with will and powers grim.
He scoured the islands with his claws and teeth, and flaming breath,
but two bold heroes rose in might, and fought him to the death.
The fortress of Eptory on the island of Areth
lay on the western borders, near the ocean’s sighing breath.
Its king, Shaedast the First, was of a fair and noble make:
he gave of all he owned, and little in return did take.
His queen, the lovely Jenyabell, was kind as springtime’s sun,
and under her wise counsel there was joy in everyone.
Midsummer’s Day in their twentieth year of ruling came
with jubilee and celebration in the royals’ names.
Wine flowed like water, hearts were glad, and many children sang,
running through all the city streets as silver bells they rang.
But ere the sun went down that day, ill news was brought to light:
Hacos was stirring in the south, in anger and cruel might.
The message-bearer cowered as he stammered out the tale,
and Shaedast gripped his lady’s hand, seeing her face was pale.
“Hacos has been asleep since your grandfather was the king!
Why would he waken now?” The Queen’s voice rose in wondering.
“My lady, I know not,” Shaedast replied, “but we must act:
Hacos will stop at naught until our very souls have cracked.”
“How can we stop him?” cried the Queen. “His wrath is terrible!
If we should fail, his reprisal shall be unbearable!”
“Be of stout heart!” the King bade her, and stood up from his throne.
“I’ll find a way to slay him, if I must go forth alone!”
Then taking leave of Jenyabell, he kissed her tender cheek
and made fast preparations, heading out for aid to seek.
She called to him as he rode out, “Take care, love, and return!
Hacos may reach us any day, and all our lands will burn!”
He turned and waved a kiss to her, then spurred his horse to run,
silently dreading what might be now that this had begun.
He rode for many days and nights, with little time to rest,
heading due east, with nightfall shades following from the west.
The rolling hills of west Areth gave way to mountain peaks,
with many narrow roads through tunnels and o’er icy creeks.
Shaedast traversed these with great care, cursing his lack of speed.
He knew he must go swiftly now to meet his kingdom’s need.
But those high paths were perilous; he needed all his wits
to keep from tumbling from the heights into the deepest pits.
One passage led into the mountain, far within the stone,
and Shaedast felt a numbing fear sink deep into his bones.
The darkness waited like a beast, its hungry jaws agape;
doubt wore away at him, hissing of traps without escape.
He lingered there, but his feet slipped upon a patch of ice,
and sent him sliding headlong down the tunnel in a trice.
The echoes of his cry sent tremors rumbling through the snow—
an avalanche sealed off the door, with Shaedast far below.
The darkness closed around him, and his heart beat hard and fast:
he lay unmoving, fearing every breath to be his last.
He felt no blood upon his skin, or any broken limbs,
so he stood slowly, carefully, his eyesight greatly dimmed.
He fumbled in his knapsack for a piece of flint and steel,
and pulled them out, but not a scrap of tinder could he feel.
A wave of panic rose in him; he fought to choke it back,
his fingers blindly questing at the bottom of his pack.
At last, defeated, he felt for a wall to lean upon,
looking ahead and wondering how far his path went on.
The stone walls held thin veins of light, and along these he groped,
but no sound save that of his breaths reached his ears, though he hoped.
The air was thick and musty, and the darkness cowed his heart;
still he pressed on, until a sudden whisper made him start.
“Who’s walking there? Please, have a care for a poor wanderer!”
Shaedast followed the voice unto its source, and knelt by her.
The girl who lay upon the ground seemed to be badly harmed:
he felt the sticky wetness of the blood upon her arms.
“Who are you?” Shaedast asked her, wishing he could see her face.
She coughed and answered, “Moruna, the daughter of Bordais.”
“What brings you here, Moruna?” the king asked curiously.
“Who asks?” Moruna retorted brusquely, though shakily.
“The King of Areth,” said Shaedast, slightly narrowing his eyes.
“Your Highness!” The girl shuffled to her knees, then gave a cry,
her face twisting; she groaned softly and lay back down again.
“Forgive me, sire,” she rasped, her weak voice telling of her pain.
“I am a humble vagrant, from the city of Bastred.
I came here with a companion, but now, I fear, he’s dead.”
Shaedast now felt the nibbled bones strewn all around the girl,
and scraps of cloth; he stared in her direction, mind awhirl.
She gave a coughing laugh and shrugged, “We must do what we must
to save ourselves, or we’ll be naught but empty bones and dust.
Have you a drop of water, sire? My throat is very dry.”
The King drew forth a wineskin, and she took it with a sigh.
“A hundred blessings on your head,” she smiled, “and on your land.”
She handed back the wineskin, and took Shaedast’s proffered hand.
“What brings you to this horrid place, my liege?” she then inquired.
“A deadly threat to my kingdom, of doom and dragon-fire.
Hacos is stirring in the south; who knows when he will strike?
I fear my time is fleeing far more swiftly than I’d like.”
Moruna shuddered as she stood. “I’ve heard tales of that beast.
His voice is terrible enough, but that’s only the least.”
She swayed and buckled; Shaedast caught her and held her upright,
feeling for something he could use to make a little light.
A thighbone bound with cloth served as a torch: however crude,
it raised his spirits greatly—any light to him was good.
They made their way together through the corridors of stone;
Moruna limped, her broken ankle splinted with a bone,
leaning on Shaedast for support. He held the torch aloft
in his free hand, wishing for clean, fresh air and breezes soft.
They spoke in whispered voices ‘neath the crackling of the flame,
and cursed the waiting shadows curling just beyond the same.
The fire soon began to dim around the bone’s black end;
A stab of fright struck Shaedast as the shadows did extend.
He steeled his heart and hurried on, Moruna at his side,
the torch-fire hissing angrily and streaming out behind.
A spider’s web caught light and formed a moment’s dazzling blaze
which fell to ashes in a trice, and left them blinking, dazed.
The web had stretched across the wall, barring a small, square door,
which now lay wide ajar beside them, unnoticed before.
Shaedast’s head came above the lip when he stood on his toes;
he gasped as wisps of cool, sweet air came drifting to his nose.
“Fresh air!” he cried. “Oh, never did that blessing feel so sweet!
But no sunlight!” For they were down several dozen feet.
“If only I could find a way to crawl inside the gap!”
His fingers drummed against the wall: rap-tap, rap-tap, rap-tap.
Moruna frowned as she perused the slight opening, too:
“If you could lift me,” she spoke up, “I think I may fit through.”
“But you are injured,” he protested, “and in no fit shape
to risk your life and limbs that way. There may be no escape!”
The memory of fear still plagued him, and he looked away,
cursing the terrors of his mind that haunted him each day.
Moruna laid a hand upon his shoulder, murmuring,
“If it affrights you so, I will not take that risk, my king.”
He nodded, and they headed on into the growing gloom,
both hoping that the light of day would grace their vision soon.
The way was long, their time was short, and tempers were drawn thin,
when above them they spied a crack with moonlight streaming in.
Shaedast lifted Moruna, and she peered up through the hole,
calling down, “I can see the stars! And oh, the wind is cold!”
“We must be near an entrance!” Shaedast told her. “Hurry on!”
They rushed along the passageway, their despair fully gone.
By dawn they reached a carven door that led up to the slopes,
and pushed it open eagerly, hearts brimming with new hope.
The day broke glorious and bright across the diamond snow,
giving a blue-grey, misty view of all the lands below.
There was no time to tarry, so they searched for a way down,
descending from the snowy peaks to stone crags, grey and brown.
By high midday they reached the earth, and rested on the grass.
They shared a meal, their spirits high, and hoping that would last.
They followed a wide river, which flowed swiftly to the east,
but thoughts of danger and their journey stole from their hearts’ peace.
To reeky mires of squelchy turf the two comrades soon came.
They looked ahead—for miles beyond lay nothing but the same.
D’nim, Areth and Ulos, dwelling in fair harmony.
But discord once began to brew in caverns 'neath D’nim—
a fearsome creature came awake, with will and powers grim.
He scoured the islands with his claws and teeth, and flaming breath,
but two bold heroes rose in might, and fought him to the death.
The fortress of Eptory on the island of Areth
lay on the western borders, near the ocean’s sighing breath.
Its king, Shaedast the First, was of a fair and noble make:
he gave of all he owned, and little in return did take.
His queen, the lovely Jenyabell, was kind as springtime’s sun,
and under her wise counsel there was joy in everyone.
Midsummer’s Day in their twentieth year of ruling came
with jubilee and celebration in the royals’ names.
Wine flowed like water, hearts were glad, and many children sang,
running through all the city streets as silver bells they rang.
But ere the sun went down that day, ill news was brought to light:
Hacos was stirring in the south, in anger and cruel might.
The message-bearer cowered as he stammered out the tale,
and Shaedast gripped his lady’s hand, seeing her face was pale.
“Hacos has been asleep since your grandfather was the king!
Why would he waken now?” The Queen’s voice rose in wondering.
“My lady, I know not,” Shaedast replied, “but we must act:
Hacos will stop at naught until our very souls have cracked.”
“How can we stop him?” cried the Queen. “His wrath is terrible!
If we should fail, his reprisal shall be unbearable!”
“Be of stout heart!” the King bade her, and stood up from his throne.
“I’ll find a way to slay him, if I must go forth alone!”
Then taking leave of Jenyabell, he kissed her tender cheek
and made fast preparations, heading out for aid to seek.
She called to him as he rode out, “Take care, love, and return!
Hacos may reach us any day, and all our lands will burn!”
He turned and waved a kiss to her, then spurred his horse to run,
silently dreading what might be now that this had begun.
He rode for many days and nights, with little time to rest,
heading due east, with nightfall shades following from the west.
The rolling hills of west Areth gave way to mountain peaks,
with many narrow roads through tunnels and o’er icy creeks.
Shaedast traversed these with great care, cursing his lack of speed.
He knew he must go swiftly now to meet his kingdom’s need.
But those high paths were perilous; he needed all his wits
to keep from tumbling from the heights into the deepest pits.
One passage led into the mountain, far within the stone,
and Shaedast felt a numbing fear sink deep into his bones.
The darkness waited like a beast, its hungry jaws agape;
doubt wore away at him, hissing of traps without escape.
He lingered there, but his feet slipped upon a patch of ice,
and sent him sliding headlong down the tunnel in a trice.
The echoes of his cry sent tremors rumbling through the snow—
an avalanche sealed off the door, with Shaedast far below.
The darkness closed around him, and his heart beat hard and fast:
he lay unmoving, fearing every breath to be his last.
He felt no blood upon his skin, or any broken limbs,
so he stood slowly, carefully, his eyesight greatly dimmed.
He fumbled in his knapsack for a piece of flint and steel,
and pulled them out, but not a scrap of tinder could he feel.
A wave of panic rose in him; he fought to choke it back,
his fingers blindly questing at the bottom of his pack.
At last, defeated, he felt for a wall to lean upon,
looking ahead and wondering how far his path went on.
The stone walls held thin veins of light, and along these he groped,
but no sound save that of his breaths reached his ears, though he hoped.
The air was thick and musty, and the darkness cowed his heart;
still he pressed on, until a sudden whisper made him start.
“Who’s walking there? Please, have a care for a poor wanderer!”
Shaedast followed the voice unto its source, and knelt by her.
The girl who lay upon the ground seemed to be badly harmed:
he felt the sticky wetness of the blood upon her arms.
“Who are you?” Shaedast asked her, wishing he could see her face.
She coughed and answered, “Moruna, the daughter of Bordais.”
“What brings you here, Moruna?” the king asked curiously.
“Who asks?” Moruna retorted brusquely, though shakily.
“The King of Areth,” said Shaedast, slightly narrowing his eyes.
“Your Highness!” The girl shuffled to her knees, then gave a cry,
her face twisting; she groaned softly and lay back down again.
“Forgive me, sire,” she rasped, her weak voice telling of her pain.
“I am a humble vagrant, from the city of Bastred.
I came here with a companion, but now, I fear, he’s dead.”
Shaedast now felt the nibbled bones strewn all around the girl,
and scraps of cloth; he stared in her direction, mind awhirl.
She gave a coughing laugh and shrugged, “We must do what we must
to save ourselves, or we’ll be naught but empty bones and dust.
Have you a drop of water, sire? My throat is very dry.”
The King drew forth a wineskin, and she took it with a sigh.
“A hundred blessings on your head,” she smiled, “and on your land.”
She handed back the wineskin, and took Shaedast’s proffered hand.
“What brings you to this horrid place, my liege?” she then inquired.
“A deadly threat to my kingdom, of doom and dragon-fire.
Hacos is stirring in the south; who knows when he will strike?
I fear my time is fleeing far more swiftly than I’d like.”
Moruna shuddered as she stood. “I’ve heard tales of that beast.
His voice is terrible enough, but that’s only the least.”
She swayed and buckled; Shaedast caught her and held her upright,
feeling for something he could use to make a little light.
A thighbone bound with cloth served as a torch: however crude,
it raised his spirits greatly—any light to him was good.
They made their way together through the corridors of stone;
Moruna limped, her broken ankle splinted with a bone,
leaning on Shaedast for support. He held the torch aloft
in his free hand, wishing for clean, fresh air and breezes soft.
They spoke in whispered voices ‘neath the crackling of the flame,
and cursed the waiting shadows curling just beyond the same.
The fire soon began to dim around the bone’s black end;
A stab of fright struck Shaedast as the shadows did extend.
He steeled his heart and hurried on, Moruna at his side,
the torch-fire hissing angrily and streaming out behind.
A spider’s web caught light and formed a moment’s dazzling blaze
which fell to ashes in a trice, and left them blinking, dazed.
The web had stretched across the wall, barring a small, square door,
which now lay wide ajar beside them, unnoticed before.
Shaedast’s head came above the lip when he stood on his toes;
he gasped as wisps of cool, sweet air came drifting to his nose.
“Fresh air!” he cried. “Oh, never did that blessing feel so sweet!
But no sunlight!” For they were down several dozen feet.
“If only I could find a way to crawl inside the gap!”
His fingers drummed against the wall: rap-tap, rap-tap, rap-tap.
Moruna frowned as she perused the slight opening, too:
“If you could lift me,” she spoke up, “I think I may fit through.”
“But you are injured,” he protested, “and in no fit shape
to risk your life and limbs that way. There may be no escape!”
The memory of fear still plagued him, and he looked away,
cursing the terrors of his mind that haunted him each day.
Moruna laid a hand upon his shoulder, murmuring,
“If it affrights you so, I will not take that risk, my king.”
He nodded, and they headed on into the growing gloom,
both hoping that the light of day would grace their vision soon.
The way was long, their time was short, and tempers were drawn thin,
when above them they spied a crack with moonlight streaming in.
Shaedast lifted Moruna, and she peered up through the hole,
calling down, “I can see the stars! And oh, the wind is cold!”
“We must be near an entrance!” Shaedast told her. “Hurry on!”
They rushed along the passageway, their despair fully gone.
By dawn they reached a carven door that led up to the slopes,
and pushed it open eagerly, hearts brimming with new hope.
The day broke glorious and bright across the diamond snow,
giving a blue-grey, misty view of all the lands below.
There was no time to tarry, so they searched for a way down,
descending from the snowy peaks to stone crags, grey and brown.
By high midday they reached the earth, and rested on the grass.
They shared a meal, their spirits high, and hoping that would last.
They followed a wide river, which flowed swiftly to the east,
but thoughts of danger and their journey stole from their hearts’ peace.
To reeky mires of squelchy turf the two comrades soon came.
They looked ahead—for miles beyond lay nothing but the same.
