As Khollo’s eyes continued to adjust to the gloom, he became aware of sunlight filtering in from a few places. First above, where the roof ought to be, and also directly ahead. Khollo continued moving forward, and nearly tripped over a step.
The young warrior looked down. He could barely make out the shape of five steps, rising to an elevated platform. The dragon lit one last lantern, then joined him, flapping its wings awkwardly as it bounded across the room.
“What have we discovered?” Khollo asked, stepping up to the dais.
Light filtered over the dais, falling on a solid shape rising out of the ground.
The past, the dragon replied in awe. Ancient glory and power.
Before them stood a throne, exquisitely carved, heavy and solid. The armrests were snarling dragon heads, maws open, preparatory to breathing fire. The back of the chair was bordered by a collar of flame patterns, like the symbol stone in the floor of the hall. Just inside the collar, at the top, was the misshapen cross, surmounted by a crown of fire.
“A throne,” Khollo murmured, surprised. “But whose?”
The leader, the dragon replied.
“Well, obviously,” Khollo agreed.
The dragon moved behind the throne, to a wide-open space between the throne and the fourth wall, a space large enough for four dragons to stand in line, nose to tail. The wall was slightly curved, bowing outwards from the rest of the room.
There is writing, the dragon announced, peering at the wall behind the throne. And a statue.
Khollo joined the dragon at the back wall. Sure enough, standing in an alcove at the center of the back wall, was the stone figure of a bearded king, armored and carrying a sword, the point resting between his feet. Around the alcove was another collar, but this one contained writing rather than flame designs. Writing in the ancient tongue.
“Peace to all who gaze upon this mighty hall,” Khollo translated. “For here reside the Keepers, servants of light and fire, banes of darkness, protectors of the world, friends and riders of dragons. May the Order live on in glory.”
Keepers? The dragon murmured. They built this place? An Order of men and dragons?
Khollo looked down at the pedestal the king stood upon, wondering who this was. His mouth dropped open as he read the words written there.
Khollo, rider of Kanin
Founder of the Keepers
He has your name, the dragon observed curiously. You have the name of a king?
“Apparently,” Khollo replied weakly. Is this possible? Am I looking at the face of a long dead ancestor? Or is it coincidence that we share the same name?
Kanin, the dragon mused. It is a good name. I think I should like to have it.
“Are you sure?” Khollo asked.
Would it be wrong to take it? the dragon asked, somewhat concerned.
“No,” Khollo replied immediately. “No. Clearly, we are the only ones that have been here in a long, long time. I don’t think that there is anybody left today that would be angered by you taking the name for your own.
Then I take it! the dragon exulted, roaring its triumph for all the world to hear. I am a dragon called Kanin, and I have returned home. And you, he said looking at Khollo, eyes whirling, you are not a human called Khollo. You are a Keeper called Khollo.
“A Keeper,” Khollo breathed. The word resonated within him. “I like the sound of that. But what does it mean?”
“It means you are the heir to a legacy as old as the world itself.”
Khollo whirled around, grabbing his bow and nocking an arrow. Kanin turned as well, hissing with displeasure at being surprised, wings spread, ready to fly or attack, whichever came first.
But there was no need. At the foot of the stairs was a rather harmless looking old man with long hair and a tangled beard that reached halfway down his chest. One eye was milky white, and a scar ran from the center of his forehead, to the middle of his jaw on the left side. He was clad in a shirt, trousers, and boots, all of which were more patches than original material.
“Forgive the intrusion,” the old man said, smiling. “But I heard your dragon roar and couldn’t help investigating. I’ve heard you many times now, but this is the first time you were close enough to track down.”
“Who are you?” Khollo asked rather rudely. He felt robbed of his discovery.
“No one of consequence,” the man replied. “A wanderer, and a descendant of the line of kings.” He grimaced. “Of true kings, that is. Not the people that pass for kings in the rest of the world.”
“There is only one king in the rest of the world,” Khollo replied. “The Sthan King.”
“The Sthan? They still live?” the old man shook his head in disbelief. “Not possible. They were overrun, long ago.”
“No, they weren’t,” Khollo assured him. “They may be soon, but not yet.”
“Hmph.” The man snorted. “Well, I don’t believe it. And in any event, it doesn’t matter here. This is one place the Sthan king cannot claim, for it is older than his kingdom, older than all kingdoms.”
“And it certainly looks it,” Khollo observed.
“It’s not my fault, this is how I found it,” the newcomer explained. “There’s too much green for one half-blind man to rip down. Though I would like to see the place as it once was, in the days when the Keepers ruled the world gently and kept the peace between kingdoms.”
“How long have you been here?” Khollo asked.
“Oh, ten years or more,” the stranger replied airily. “More like eight, actually, since I discovered
