Prologue The sun was beginning to set over Alefgard. Most people did not seem to notice this small everyday miracle, being preoccupied with the dull business of the day and various chores. Perhaps the only person in the entire kingdom who even cared was a unremarkable young boy named Rodney. This was more or less a ritual for him. After spending the day doing small work at Cyrus' weapon shop or on unofficial self-training to be a soldier in Lorik's army he would sit on the hill overlooking his home village, watching day turn to night idely. "Found you," a female voice said from behind. Rod whirled around, grasping his wooden training sword. "You're so funny when you're like that," the girl Amia laughed. "Some courageous soldier you are, ready to do battle against a helpless little village girl." "Always be prepared," Rodney said with a stupid grin. Amia casually pulled her hand through her bluish hair. Rodney watched her, the sunset forgotten. "What did you come up here for? I thought you'd still be pulling you r shift at the fairy water shop." "Cyrus sent me, as usual." Amia said, "his order of copper swords just arrived from Moonbroke, and he needs help putting them up on stock." Rodney rolled his eyes. "For Rubiss' sake, can't he do anything by himself?!" "Well, he is your father after all..." "Adopted father." Rodney reminded. "I never knew who my parents were, remember?" "You're so lucky." Amia said. Rodney glared at her. "Not funny." "No, it isn't. Better get going. Cyrus doesn't like to be kept waiting, you know." Rodney knew this better than anyone through hard experience. "Well, shall I carry you back to the village in my strong arms, my lady?" Rodney began to approach her. Amia's eyes seemed to burn. "Don't. Think. It." "Alright," he said, still grinning without realizing it. He began to make his way back to the village slowly, still trying to appreciate the day despite Cyrus' interruptions. On his way back into the village, Rodney noticed that a small group of villagers were gathering. Rodney went to the first face he recognized; Lian, the nephew of the local innkeeper and one of his few friends. "What's wrong?" Rodney asked, noticing in the center of the group was an old man in rags lying face-up on the ground. "This old hobo came stumbling in town. We're still trying to figure out what to do with him." "We have to get him to a healer!" an outraged voice cried out. "No, he could have a disease or something." Through this debate, the old man opened his eyes and turned to Rodney. He whispered Rodney's name before closing his eyes again. Rodney stood in shock. Finally, someone took the incentive to take the old man to the inn to wait for the healer. Forgetting all about Cyrus and his copper swords, Rodney went to the inn. The old man laid unmoving in a dirty room near the innkeeper's bench. He seemed to be on the verge of death, but Rodney's curiosity drove him beyond such considerations. No one was in the room with them, since everyone else had either gone back to their business or went to fetch a healer. Rodney gently shook the old man until finally his eyes opened again. "How did you know my name?" "You were the one I was seeking," the old man said weakly, "from village to village. But it was chance that brought me to you in the end..." "Are you...?" The old man raised his hand. "Let me answer your questions. Who I am doesn't matter. No, I'm not going to be alive much longer. Yes, I did know your parents, but not very well, and I'm not certain if they still live. And I knew of you, I knew I had to find you..." "Why?" Rodney asked. He felt like this was a dream. "You are..," the old man went into a violent coughing fit, then continued as if nothing happened. "...the only surviving descendent of Erdrick, besides your parents, if they are still on this world. There's a storm....on the horizon of Alefgard. The country will probably not survive intact." "Now...what the hell do I hate to do with it?" "You are the grandson of Erdrick. Your destiny is to weather the storm. You have no choice." The old man had closed his eyes again, and his breathing became difficult. "The storm...where is it?" Faintly the old man whispered. "It is already here now." With that, his breathing stopped. Rodney attempted to revive him, using the few lessons he was taught by his tutor. But the old man was already long gone. "Rodney!" a voice sternly shouted. It was Cyrus. "Cyrus, ths man knew my name...d-do you know who he was?" "A dead bum. That's all. Go home." Cyrus looked like a ghost. "But, he said I was Erdrick's grandson, and..." "He was delusional. Go home now." Cyrus said, staring at the body of the old man. Rodney could not argue anymore and decided to go home. His mind filled with doubts as he walked from the inn to Cyrus' home. He could tell by the way Cyrus looked at the old man that he had recognized him. Cyrus said that he didn't know Rodney's parents or anyone from Rodney's early childhood. Could it be that Cyrus had lied the whole time? Why? Rodney immediately went to bed, not wanting to see Cyrus' pale face. He could not sleep. The old man in rags appeared every time he closed his eyes. South of Tantegel Castle, the ancient home of Alefgard's great line of kings and queens, stood the fortress of Charlock. No one knew-or wanted to know-who built the place. The only thing anyone knew was that Charlock had always faced Tantegel from the south across the bay, and perhaps dated all the way back when the great spirit Rubiss created the world from the darkness. Over a century ago, Charlock was the home to a demonic sorcerer from another world named Zoma. After a long reign of terror, Zoma was killed by the legendary hero Erdrick, who, according to the stories, also hailed from an unknown world. Soon after Zoma's defeat, the king of Alefgard at the time ordered the army to search the ancient fortress. A large portion of Charlock was brought to ruin, and many old traps and artifacts of Zoma's were completely destroyed. Still Charlock stood across the bay, silently challenging the occupants of Tantegel. Sajun, the self-proclaimed king of thieves, stood before the shattered gates of Charlock. Despite his supposed courage, he felt a chill, as if Zoma and his minions still resided there. The fact that half of Charlock was uninhabitable did nothing to mar its reputation. Taking a deep breath, Sajun walked through the doors and lit a torch. Expertly he moved through the labyrinthine corridors of Charlock, watching out for pitfalls. He felt like he had been here before, in a dream. Indeed, it was a dream that inspired him to go to Charlock to find the Sword of Kings, which Erdrick used himself to slay Zoma. In his dreams Sajun took Erdrick's sword in his hands. By selling it on the Cantlin black market, he recieved enough money to live his life in decadent luxury, without any more fear of getting caught or being killed. He could be set for life, just with this one simple little scheme. Take a right here, a left, another left....Sajun had no idea it would be this easy. He still felt fear behind him, trying to overwhelm him, but silenced it with dreams of bags of gold coins. Soon he found himself in a wide room, completely empty except for a throne on the other side. However, there was no sword in sight. "Damn." Sajun believed he could trust his instincts. He must be getting too old. "Welcome," a voice said from nowhere. Sajun pulled out his dagger and scanned the room. "Who are you?!" "A friend. No fear please. Not yet." The fear he had repressed came up to his throat. Something told him to get out, sword or no sword. The voice continued. "I know what you want. You want wealth, power, fulfillment of appetite. Right?" "I-I suppose so." Sajun said nervously. "Do you have the sword?" The voice seemed to get louder. "Embrace your desire. You will get what you want." Sajun began to think of his greatest ambition: to become the wealthiest man in Alefgard, if not the known world. Even King Lorik would have to come to him for loans. No one would ever be able to push him around, or look down on him. Ever. "Yes.." he agreed. The voice, once threatning, had now become comforting. "I have it all, right here, in my hand. Accept it please." Something in Sajun's mind was screaming. Another part of him was relaxed, calm, and ready to say "yes." Moments afterwards Sajun felt a sharp pain in his chest. He screamed out, but his screams only echoed back to him. Was he having a heart attack? Suddenly the pain went through out his whole body, as if he was being torn apart from the inside. Hours later, Sajun was gone. In his place stood something considerably inhuman; a massive seventeen-foot dragon with hard green scales and fierce eyes. The dragon stretched, feeling freedom of movement once again, after a very long time. The voice which confronted the thief Sajun returned. "Welcome back to Alefgard, Dragonlord." The Dragonlord opened his eyes fully. All he remembered was great wars, pain, and then the darkness. "Where am I?" he asked with the air of a king. "All will be explained." The voice said. With that, the image of a muscular winged figure that looked like some sort of demon appeared before the Dragonlord. The most notable thing about the being was that it had only one eye. The image flickered, barely able to maintain itself. Still it was intimidating, even to the Dragonlord. "But first," the image continued. "I am Malroth. I have appeared to you in an image I'm certain you can understand. You are the Dragonlord and once you led great armies of beasts and monsters across the land, establishing your power over gods and demons. Few could even begin to rival you. Then Rubiss came, with all her arrogance and glory, and defeated you and your armies and your fellow lords. She gave the world that is rightfully yours to the humans. But she could only destroy your body, not your spirit. So I brought you back, using a small mortal vessel. And here you are." "Yes. I can almost remeber...the waiting, the pain." Malroth grinned hideously. "Yes. I, too, have a grudge against our lady Rubiss, who has always been my mortal enemy. She tore my eye out of its socket, yes, and then trapped me, hurting and defenseless, into the void between worlds. Only when the stars and planets are right, can I reach outside my prison and...influence certain events to my advantage." "And you want me to free you?" "That would be nice. There is much I can give you...power, godhood...a mate." The Dragonlord appeared interested. "How can I do this?" "There's this Ball of Light that holds limitless energies. The humans hold it in their castle. With it you could possibly set me free." "I see. Do you propose that I loot the humans' castle alone, and without any knowledge of the world the humans made?" Malroth raised a gnarled finger. "Say no more." Without warning, the Dragonlord's mind was loaded with information, as if floodgates were opened. In moments he knew everything: the geography of Alefgard, the location of the villages and cities, even the names of the royal family. "Ah," the Dragonlord smiled. It was good to have such an ally. "Anything else?" "Yes. Look here." Malroth raised his hand. A window appeared to open out of nowhere. The Dragonlord looked through it, and saw the outside of Charlock. Standing outside the gates were a massive army of monsters, from wolves to dragons to armored demons. He had not seen such an impressive force since the old days. At the head was a figure in red armor and a man shrouded in yellow robes holding a staff with a redish orb attached. "Since after Rubiss came, these creatures have been forced to hide in the shadows of deep forests and caves. My loyal advocate, Fagin, the man you see, gathered them for you. Fagin himself is a master in the black arts and will be most eager to serve you." "And the red armored one..?" "He is the commander of your army, C'khal, a fierce warrior and a former associate of mine. He can battle entire armies single handedly with only a sword." Dragonlord could tell Marloth was not exaggerating. "C'khal will follow your orders to the letter, but remember...he is ultimately loyal to me, and my commands override yours. Fagin will keep watch over you for me." "Very well." Dragonlord could barely tolerate Malroth's insult, but knew he had to, for now. "Now, I believe your first command will be to assault Tentagel and to seize the Ball of Light, so you may decipher its secrets. Anything else?" The image of Malroth was getting lighter. "This Princess Gwaelin..." Dragonlord said, using his newfound knowledge. "What if we should capture her? That would break the hearts of the people even more than taking the Ball of Light. Further it would be more devastating if we kept her alive, but not even the best humans in Alefgard could rescue her." Malroth smiled. "Yes. I knew I chose you well. You shouldn't meet much resistance, since the armies of this land have grown sluggish with the decades of peace. Do not disappoint me." With that the image of Malroth faded out. Now there was only the Dragonlord. The Dragonlord prepared to go out, to greet his new army and to watch the assault on Tantegel. He decided to leave Tangegel standing, for the time, since it would be no fun to wipe out the enemy with just one blow. Instead the Dragonlord prefered to slowly kill his foes, drowning them in despair and hopelessness, before finally going in for the kill. The Dragonlord smiled. Life was already looking much brighter.