The Kallanon Scales (33 page)

Life settled
and the land renewed, but resentment simmered among the Dragons.
Conflict loomed anew, and came to pass, a bitter struggle. The
Dragonnes won again and adopted a new policy. Only one male in
every five female births was allowed life. It was ruthless, but
successful.

Peace
returned.

As the years
wore on the Dragons did not forget. They hankered after the
kingdoms of old.

Other races
were ignored. Where Dragons had claimed territories not theirs in
the past, those races erred on the side of life and fled to
undisputed regions. They, however, held in their grasp the means
Dragons sought to rule.

Sorcery.

Dragons
belched fire in secret glee and sobered to plan. They needed to
learn this strange power.

The Dragonnes
made it possible. They invited sorcerers to court, entranced by the
spectacle of magic. Court was a graceful centre of learning and
culture and the last war had fled living memory, and thus were the
sorcerers wooed, among them the ever-curious Q’lin’la.

Mysteriously
the talented newcomers began to disappear without a trace, one by
one, without a whiff of foul play. By all appearances, they simply
did not return to court. Dragonnes shrugged gigantic shoulders and
continued with the business of life. When the court emptied of all
foreigners, they knew something was wrong.

The Dragons
spent generations building a stronghold deep in the mountains of
the homeworld, where a tiny fort was the only evidence. The rest
was an intricate network in the bowels of the earth. There the
kidnapped sorcerers were brought, one by one. With layers of rock
between them and freedom, they were effectively bound. There was no
escape via sorcery, given the depth of capture, and there was no
possibility of flight through dark stones corridors, given the
level of security. Therefore, to see again the sworn light of suns,
they agreed to train the Dragons.

Thus began the
next phase in the turbulent history of the Dragon species.

Sorcery was a
double-edged sword; it could never be wholly held.

After
immersion in the base principles, the acolyte attained the point of
choice.

Lumin or
Darak.

Dragons chose
the darak path and the bound sorcerers knew they would not again
see the light.

The teachers
were eternally silenced after giving all of their knowledge, and
their great cries pierced the bindings of the stronghold to be
heard by their brethren elsewhere.

The Q’lin’la
hastened to the court of Queen Abdiah, eighth of the title, to make
her aware of the monstrous threat. Two Dragons crawled into her
presence one morning, severely beaten for denying the darak path,
and told the tale of an underground fortress.

She instituted
an intense programme of sorcerical training, hastening it along
despite Q’lin’la warnings about severity of pace.

The males
amassed at their stronghold, from there to swoop across the plains.
Initial attacks brought victory to the Dragons and they moved world
to world strengthening their hold. The Q’lin’la fled to watch from
a distance.

As time passed
the Dragonnes caught up in knowledge and fought back. Gradually the
Dragonnes gained the upper hand, but then it changed.

In the
Dragonne ranks the day of choice arrived and many set foot to the
darak path. War erupted between the females at a critical juncture;
the way lay open for the Dragons.

From afar the Q’lin’la cursed themselves and those like
them;
they
engendered this war of sorcery. Worlds folded and nothing was
held sacred. It was only a matter of time before nobility achieved
in the past would forever be obliterated. Never could they again
trust the giant reptiles to stay the course, unless it involved
violence and death.

The Q’lin’la
left that universe and consciously put aside knowledge of the
doorway. They sealed the Dragon species in and left them to their
fate, to remain warring in the dark, and chose life in a new
realm.

They named the
great reptiles the Kallanon.

The Glittering
Darkness.

Eat
fastidiously, pray judiciously and be seen to have manners and
faith.

~ Kallanon
Scroll of Wisdom

Nemisin’s
World

The Far
Past

A
n emissary was sent to discover
where the Q’lin’la went.

He was a
Dragon of surpassing talent, but once he tore through the barrier,
there was no manner of return. He needed the Q’lin’la or to find
another who knew the secrets of Rifts.

The universe
was in turmoil and the endless strife was familiar to him.
Unfamiliar was the variety of species, each hounding him in their
way, many capable of sorcery. He had not expected a crowded realm
and more often fled than fought. His appearances and disappearances
during those years heralded the myths about dragons and their
ferocity.

The Q’lin’la
underwent the transformation from birdmen into immortal birds, and
thus were untraceable, but he found others with great skill. These
he bled dry and none of it availed him the way home.

He roamed, learning, training, garnering more power, and in
the process exposed the beast of prophecy. These were living
futures, and he discovered the thread that told of the coming of
the One, a being of powers both lumin and darak. Good
and
evil, in one being -
the One would have power over Rifts.

That was the
road to his salvation. He traced the telling back to the source,
and there discovered Nemisin of the Valleur, the first Vallorin of
the Ancients, the father of the Valla bloodline.

Every instinct
revealed he was right and thus he warped time itself and went to
the ancient rock to deal with Nemisin.

Nemisin came
as a surprise to the Dragon emissary. He was by then accustomed to
bipedal creatures without scaled armour, thus his astonishment lay
in the man’s arrogance. It bred treachery, had to be watched … and
could be useful.

Awareness of
the future continued to intrigue. Dragons thought in terms of the
next battle, but the Valleur delved into the distant future to
reach for a glimpse of duty to the present. The emissary realised
how little the Kallanon understood time, sentience and universal
cycles. All were integrally linked.

Thus, ages
back, a Dragon requested audience with Vallorin Nemisin.

“I know this
creature not,” Nemisin’s aide whispered in his ear. “Shall I send
him away, my Lord?”

“We thought we were alone in the universe, Tanor, and here we
have an alien creature. We shall
not
send it away, we shall welcome
it in order that we may look upon it.”

Tanor bobbed,
aware of his Vallorin’s foul temper of late. “Yes, my Lord,
immediately!”

“Not
immediately, fool!”

“Of course, my
Lord, how clever of you.” Tanor whispered, retreating.

His Vallorin
commanded the hunting expedition three days ago to exercise his
eagles. They camped on the open plains of the mighty Red Desert,
and it was insufferably hot. The entire entourage desired return to
the shadows and cool of the mountains. The Vallorin, ensconced in
his great tent, barely felt the heat, but one did not point that
out.

As Tanor
exited, he gasped, struck anew by the size of the creature.

“No need to
say anything, underling,” the Dragon murmured. “I heard your
master’s words.”

His Vallorin
did not realise the intimidating presence of this …

“A Dragon.”
The creature was amused. “I read minds.”

Tanor scuttled
into the tent.

Nemisin,
reclined in a hammock in the rear, sat up. “Tanor, I told you …” He
paused. “What is it, man? You are as pale as a bleached bone.”

“The creature,
it reads minds and it knows you make it wait!”

“He heard me,
that is all. Fine, send our visitor in.” Nemisin ambled to the high
chair in the centre - not his Throne, but a close replica for
expeditions. One had to keep them on their toes, remind them who
was in charge.

Tanor wrung
his hands.

“What now?”
Nemisin loosed a long-suffering sigh.

“He will not
fit.

“Really? Then
I shall perforce have to go outside to greet him.”

A heavy
silence hung over the encampment when Nemisin strode boldly out and
it intensified when he halted, yellow eyes drawn upward to the huge
Dragon. Long moments passed as he studied the alien creature and
was likewise scrutinised.

“Well, you are
a Dragon.”

It was a statement unsurprised; this puny golden man
knew
. “You know of my
kind?” The Dragon’s voice was educated, with perfect
speech.

“In visions,”
Nemisin murmured. He had seen this particular Dragon flitting in
and out of the future as the creature searched for the Q’lin’la. He
also unwittingly sealed his fate with that casual admission, for
the Dragon required no further proof.

“You are aware
of our joined future, then.” The Dragon stared down.

The Vallorin’s
smile was gone. “I do not see that.”

“I shall
enlighten you, golden man, for we are indeed to be joined. You are
the instrument to my return home, no matter how long I must await
the going. My kind needs to hear of what I have seen and learned
here. They will remember me even in a distant future.” The Dragon’s
long tail twitched, shimmering blue under the harsh desert sun, and
nearby Valleur scattered.

“I am willing
to assist you home.”

“You
misunderstand, Lord Nemisin.”

“You know
me?”

“I know you
and I know what you desire most. You are the father of the blood
that will lead directly to the One.”

Nemisin
blanched. “How do you know? I have not spoken that …” He glanced at
his listening retainers. “Leave! Now!”

They melted
away, running into the shadeless desert. Nemisin watched them
skelter and gripped his golden robe tight to still the nervous
tremble in his hands.

When he judged
his people beyond hearing, he turned his attention back to the
Dragon. “You are correct in your assessment. I do not
understand.”

“Allow me to
introduce myself.”

“Be my
guest.”

“I am to be
that, indeed. I am an emissary sent to find someone. Unfortunately
they have vanished beyond my ability …”

“The Valleur
are alone in this great space!”

The Dragon
winked. “Yet here I am. You are wrong, but it shall be our
secret.”

“Who are you?
Where do you come from?”

“I am of the
Kallanon and we hail from an alternate universe - true, Lord
Vallorin, I assure you. I cannot return, for the doorway permitted
exit alone. My hopes now lie with the One in the prophecy you are
yet to formalise.”

“Goddess, how
can you know?”

“I am here to
explain.”

“What is your
name, Dragon?”

“I am called
Neolone.”

Nemisin
murmured, “Time’s Timekeeper. Does that describe you?”

“It will
soon.”

“How is it you
speak Valleur?”

“Perhaps I
should ask how it is you speak the Dragon tongue.”

Nemisin
blanched. “Goddess.”

“Your Goddess
is merely a figment of the imaginations of people who find they
need to believe in a supreme being to give life meaning. I find
your invocation of a female deity weak. We consider it an insult
for a female to be placed on a pedestal.”

“You know
nothing then, Dragon. A woman is an extraordinary phenomenon. You
lack something profound in your thinking if you dare consider a
woman less. We shall speak of this and more at the Palace. I find
this heat burns away intellect.”

“Agreed. The
Palace.”

“Tanor!”

Tanor was too
far to hear, thus Nemisin loosed a piercing whistle, an act that
caused him further irritation. When Tanor closed in, he barked
orders to the effect they were to make haste for the mountains, and
to see to the needs of their guest.

He
would to see to his
eagles.

Neolone
remained in the Palace for three days to demonstrate his long-term
plan, one that gave Nemisin nightmares, and when he drew a diagram
in the air to visualise the symbiosis, Nemisin was disbelieving and
filled with horror.

Gradually, he
was enchanted, intrigued and finally desirous of the power. To have
it was to be Vallorin in more than name.

He instituted
the Vallorinship - long years of preparing until the time was right
- and now he needed the wherewithal to hold it. To have that kind
of power was to be an Enchanter, was to speak prophecies with
meaning and impetus.

Neolone left,
erasing all memory of his visit.

Only Nemisin
remembered and wandered the Palace halls in quandary.

We are created
to be understood. We are also created to remain forever
mysterious.

~ Kallanon
Scroll of Wisdom

Nemisin’s
Mountain City

C
ontrary though he was, Nemisin was
not prepared to do ill by his people, and certainly not his
blood.

He thought
long, snapping at intruders upon his time, and arrived at a
suitable compromise, one he believed the Dragon would agree to.

When the
Dragon showed no sign of returning, he grew afraid his compromise
would lose strength in the erosion of passing time, and thus sat
one morning at the table in his airy bedchamber. Once he put quill
to parchment he found could not stop.