“Anwyn, the Dragon Slayer,” Agnes mused, her eyes hazy with remembrance. “That is a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
Salem nodded and continued. “ ‘From the account of the survivors of Ash Town where Odarth fell, Anwyn had taken refuge in the Cave of Delusion where he was tasked with the Trials of Antenele, a series of challenges posed by a dark entity who inhabited the cave. The challenges were said to be nearly impossible to beat, and most failed, being sent from the mountain without their sanity. Some say that though Anwyn survived the Trials, he still didn’t escape with his sanity, which could be the only possible explanation for how he beat Odarth single-handedly, sending the beast to the black depths of Ash Lake.’ ”
“So he was crazy,” Claire said. “That’s how he beat a dragon.”
Tabby nodded. “Makes sense.”
“All we have to do is enter this Cave of Delusion of whatever it was and have some dark entity rob us of our sanity. Sounds like a plan.” Claire made a circle by her temple, signifying the absurdity of the idea.
“Hold on,” Salem said, raising a finger, “there’s more.” He flipped the page, the old parchment wheezing out its age. “ ‘It is also rumored,’’ Salem continued reading, “ ‘that while inside the Cave, Anwyn was gifted a blade from the Man of the Mountain; one infused with magical properties. Below is an artist’s rendition of the sword—believed to have been lost in the Dark Forest a few years before Anwyn’s death.’ ” Salem turned the page and Claire’s mouth dropped open.
“That’s—that’s Maria’s sword.”
Agnes and Salem’s eyes both shot open at the same time. “Why…it is, isn’t it?” Salem asked.
“No way,” Tabby said. “That can’t be. How long ago did this take place?”
“Millennia,” Agnes answered.
“Exactly. No way that sword wouldn’t have rusted to dust,” Tabby said firmly.
Claire pointed at the drawing. “Look: the hilt, the cross-guard, all of it. I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Tab.” She shrugged. “What? I’ve read a lot of fantasy novels.”
“Anwyn is a folk hero, isn’t he? Maybe it’s a replica. You know, kind of like King Arthur’s Excalibur.”
“What’s that word right there, under the drawing?” Claire asked.
Salem squinted and leaned closer to what looked like hash marks to Claire. He nodded. “Ah,” then he spoke in a language that Claire and Tabby were vaguely familiar with from Ignatius.
As to what the word meant, neither Earthling girl had the slightest idea.
“English, please,” Claire requested.
Salem nodded. “Right, right. The term,” he spoke in the alien language again, “means, ‘The Wretched Guardian’. ”
“That doesn’t sound too good. I hope Maria’s not wandering around the planet with a sword called ‘The Wretched Guardian’ on her belt,” Claire said.
“She’s not!” Tabby said. “There’s no way. I’ve taken archaeology classes at Akron. There’s no way something like that would last this long unless…”
A confused look crossed her features.
“Unless it wasn’t actually lost, and someone had been taking care of it," Tabby said.
Agnes and Salem nodded. “Someone like Ignatius Mangood,” Agnes said.
The travelers eyed each other, mutual understanding unfolding between them.
“Go on,” Agnes said to Salem.
“ ‘On the shores of Ash Lake, it is rumored that a great battle was fought between Anwyn and Odarth the Bright, but it was not one of physical violence. Once Anwyn thwarted Odarth’s fire breath by absorbing it into the sword, it was a mental battle. It is rumored that Anwyn’s telepathy was so strong when he came out of the Cave of Delusion that he was able to convince the Rogue Dragon to fall on his sword, stabbing herself right in the heart.’ ”
“Her?” Claire asked.
“Yes, it is rumored that all the Rogue Dragons were female,” Salem told her.
“How did they reproduce?” Tabby asked.
“They didn’t,” Agnes answered. “The Rogue Dragons were said to have been born from the moons.”
“They were also said to have been born from the Underworld,” Salem added. The women grimaced. “Yes, I know, that’s not as beautiful as being born from the moons. But these beasts were not of this world; that much I am sure is true.”
“Why didn’t they extract the body from the lake, and, I don’t know, burn it or something, instead of letting it taint the water?” Claire asked.
“I’ll get to that,” Salem said, “but the short of it is that this is all legend, remember? Many people, even after the Rogue Dragon was slain, didn’t believe it had happened. Those living in Ash Town were wiped out or forced to leave to other settlements and cities.”
“Geez, that’s terrible,” Tabby said.
“Yes, it was a war that went on too long and was forgotten too fast, only to be turned to fables and tall tales,” Agnes said.
“What happened to Anwyn?” Claire asked.
“That is a story without a happy ending, I’m afraid,” Salem sighed. “It is rumored that Anwyn could not handle the fame that came with being a Dragon Slayer, and his sanity waned even more. Not long after he slay Odarth, he disappeared. Some say he went to Earth; others say he settled down in a small town, got married, and had kids, living out his last days as an ordinary farmer, letting his beard and hair grow out so no one would recognize him. There was also a rumor that Anwyn became the Rogue Dragon himself, only in human form. It argued that by slaying Odarth, he gained her voice inside his head—which I think would’ve been reasonable cause for total loss of sanity, if it were true.”
An idea struck Claire; a terrible idea she was almost too afraid to say aloud. “You don’t think that Anwyn is related…?” Claire trailed off before she could finish the thought.
Agnes and Salem knew what she was going to say, for they had thought the same thing as soon
