Dragonheart

The Old Code

Book One Volo Del Drago

Prologue Everything Has Its Beginning

The realm established by Sir Bowen the Brave and Kara Peacebringer in the days of old had long been usurped by a line of tyrant kings by the time I arrived in Linden to commit myself to the monastery. And yet...it was said that King Richard had been a just and wise man, the first to truly deserve his crown in generations. A King that ruled by the Old Code, who held his Knights to it. I often heard it said with remorse, as his younger brother had led a coup to claim the throne for his own.

I was just an eager boy of thirteen, but I had known that I would give my life over to the Order of Draco, founded by Abbot Gilbert in the Days of Sir Bowen, from the first time I heard the legends of the dragons.

The monks readily accepted me, and it was then I met Luther. He was my age, and while an often rambunctious and wild young man, he was my dearest friend. We had quite a few adventures, believe me! In truth, many of these adventures were with reluctance on my part.

I trained and studied diligently, and by the time I had turned fifteen, I was considered a full acolyte of the Order. Not long after my official entrance Abbot Ferdinand took me under his wing, and made his assistant in a very old secret, the most important of our order.

Luther, who lived and worked in the stables, was never privy to the secret, but he knew one existed. If I had known what would happen when I lost my ring of keys, the timid creature I was then would have tried to stop what happened.

As it was, it was two more years before either Abbot Ferdinand or myself noticed a change in the objects we held most precious.

-From The Memoirs of Abbot Rolf The Kindhearted

"Where have you been, Luther?" Rolf asked in a plaintive tone, shuffling behind his friend as best he could. Luther was taller, and had much longer strides. Rolf went off balance when his sandal's strap broke, and grabbed Luther's tunic to catch himself, causing the other boy to drop his staff. "You were supposed to have the stables clean before Abbot Ferdinand returned today!"

Luther straightened his tunic, and picked up the short stave he habitually carried. The stableboy flashed a quick grin. "Calm down, Rolf. I've still a few hours before the old man comes back."

Rolf gawped at his friend, and grabbed the back of Luther's tunic again. "You were watching the knights again!" He accused in a low tone.

Luther grinned, and wiggled the tip of his stave. "So? I picked up a few new things to try."

Rolf shook his head, fully exasperated. "You'll never be knight, Luther. You're a stable boy. But don't worry. A few years more and you'll be the stablemaster. It'll be your own place."

Luther frowned, stopping in front of wide-open gates and turned to look at his oldest friend. "I would just as soon beg, and you know it, Rolf. I'm not staying here forever."

After parting ways with Rolf, Luther slipped into the dim stables. He sighed, and led the two horses, the milk cow, and donkey from their pens, enclosing them opposite the building with fresh straw. Grabbing a pitchfork, Luther forked the old filthy straw into his wheelbarrow, angrily muttering curses. The stable was almost clean, as per usual. The monks kept very few animals, so Luther never had much work to do. Odd that, since monks were all about diligence and hard work.

He stabbed at a new pile, and heard a strange ring. Curious, Luther dug through the straw, and found a set of keys he immediately recognized.

"Well…Rolf's lost keys. I really should give these to him." Luther's mischievous smirk grew wide before pocketing the ring.

A dark, shadowy cloud drifted over the waxing moon, and Luther slipped through the long nighttime shadows, moving quickly along the walls as he headed for his goal. For the last week, he had tried the keys on Rolf's ring on every door throughout the monastery, and had learned that there was only one key that did not fit any door.

That left only one place, and now Luther dashed the last few open feet before stopping in front of the gate comprised of heavy steel bars that led to the depths of the monastery.

He paused in front of the gate, a nervous knot of worry gripping him for the first time. Only Abbot Ferdinand and Rolf were allowed beyond, and if he was caught they may force him to leave the abbey altogether.

Luther took a deep breath go dispel his worries, and slid the key home, twisting it to the side and letting the heavy gate slip open on its well-oiled hinges.

Luther slid inside, and closed the door most of the way shut, so no wakeful soul could tell anything was out of place without careful scrutiny.

Luther pulled the torch he'd brought from his belt, and lit it with some flint. Holding the light up, Luther saw that he was facing a short corridor. His heart began to pound with eager expectation as he walked down the hall, and inspected the steps that led down into darkness. Obviously used often, Luther turned his back on them, and looked at the ancient wooden door.

Curious, he pushed against it, and it swung open, groaning with exaggerated loudness. Luther nearly dropped his torch, but the glint of firelight off metal beyond the door stayed his hand.

Wide-eyed, Luther walked into the room, and stopped, gaping. He was in a well-stocked armory, armor, weapons, and shields covering stacks throughout. Luther had known the abbey had once been a fortress...but not that the monks had kept all of the arms.

Dust covered everything, and Luther smiled. No had entered the room in a long time, so he figured it was ripe for him to claim. Visions of wealth and his own manor, with servants of his own, danced briefly through his mind, but Luther banished them, instead removing and caressing a plain, serviceable hand-and-half sword.

A deep rumbling sound jolted the boy from his stupor, and he hurried from the room to stare down the flight of stairs. A breeze he had not noticed before rose, his torchlight flickering, but Luther heard only silence from below.

In his life, Luther would never know what drove him to do it, but curiosity and the reckless courage of youth warred only briefly with the knowledge that he was forbidden there.

Torch in one hand, sword in the other, Luther descended into the depths.

(Updated and Revised 8/24/2015)

And so our story begins. Now that I am writing once more, I'm a bit ashamed its been so many years since I updated anything, but for the next while, this story will be updated fairly quickly, at least up to the point where I originally stopped working on this.

My thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed my stories.

Adversus solem ne loquitor.