Dragon Quest - I - Chapter 4, Part 2

2 - Melkid (p143-154: 48%)

The town of Melkid, once Alefgaard’s grandest city of trade, is protected by a two-layer wall of stone.

The outer wall houses the guard towers, beyond which a paved road leads up a small hill to the inner wall’s gate. They two walls stand about three or four hundred paces apart. In the space between the two walls stretched a recently-picked orchard and freshly-harvested fields. It seemed likely to Aleph that the orchard and fields stretched all the way around the walls.

The town was just inside the internal wall’s gates, up on the hill. Directly ahead there was a finely-constructed stone temple, away from which in all four directions ran paved streets. Melkid’s size as a town eclipsed Radatome, but it had similarly few roads.

The sun was setting by the time Aleph arrived at the inn south of the temple.

Aleph paid his dues at the reception desk, then went to the attached cafeteria to see if he could request food from the innkeeper. This inn was the most popular and elegant in Melkid, but the lobby and cafeteria were largely abandoned. Even the chandelier, a symbol of its once-extravagant days, remained broken and laying on the floor. Nobody came here anymore.

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Even the menu was a relic, with dishes that were no longer offered crossed off. Even so, the selection was larger as it was than what could be found in Radatome. There was likely an abundance of food here, probably thanks to the cultivation in the surrounding walls.

Aleph ordered the warmed mushroom soup and black chicken with garlic, the specialty of the Melkid region. It came with a finely rolled wheat bread, identical to the kind he ate in Garai. Once again, he thought of the beautiful Cecille.

During his travels, Aleph would think of her from time to time. Why, he would wonder, did the shadow knight kill Cecille’s parents but simply kidnap their daughter? She must be alive somewhere - or so he would tell himself. When he was attacked in the mountain ranges of northeast Alefgaard by the shadow knights, it must have been to simply stand in his way. And while I was there, she was--… a burning anger towards the monsters rose up in his throat.

While he was chomping down his dinner, a town guard came up to him, announcing himself as being in the service of the town elder.

“The elder wishes to speak to you. About the golem,” he said.

“What’s a gollum?”

“The monster you put to sleep outside of the town gates,” replied the guard.

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Apparently the elder had heard what happened from the guards at the gates.

“All right,” accepted Aleph gratefully, intending to ask the elder anything he could about Domdora once he finished his meal.

The elder, a white-haired and frail-looking man who had just celebrated his 120th birthday this year, awaited Aleph in the inner garden sanctum of the temple next to a fountain.

Numerous pillars held up the sanctum roof, etched with finely-engraved carvings of heroes and goddesses. Torchlight illuminated well-cared for plants and other greenery.

“So you’re him,” greeted the elder, looking upon Aleph with kind eyes. “Where, if I may ask, did you happen upon the fairy flute?”

“An old minstrel in Maira gave it to me. Why do you ask?” replied Aleph, retrieving the flute from his satchel.

“So this is the fairy flute,” the old man murmured as he took it in his hands, admiring the pearlescent instrument. “According to a legend from here in Melkid, the faeries gave this flute to the magician that created that golem. You see,” began the elder, preparing himself to tell the story of the creature.

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It was 1348, and the governor of Melkid at the time, Count Polpot, took a regiment of the town’s guard with him on an expedition to rout the Dragonlord. He had confidence that the strong walls of the town and the remaining guardsmen would be able to successfully protect the townsfolk.

Count Polpot’s ancestors, after believing in a prophecy that was foretold relating that the town would one day be attacked by a mighty enemy, made plans to build a giant stone wall the likes of which Alefgaard had never seen. In the generations afterward, the walls were reinforced time and time again, to the point where the count had absolute confidence in its strength.

However, one of the Dragonlord’s six generals, the Archwizard Katusa, led a small army of titanic stonemen to attack Melkid. They destroyed the town’s walls and eliminated the guard forces that had remained to repel them.

The stonemen were originally statues and ornamentation placed around the graves of strong warriors which the Dragonlord enchanted to bring to life and make many times larger.

What eventually fought off the stonemen was the legendary golem, said to have been crafted by a mage of great power and good. The golem alone traded blows with the stonemen, and after a violent battle that raged for three days and three nights, it defeated them and emerged victorious.

Katusa, afraid of the Dragonlord’s wrath, attempted to save face by summoning a dark druid from the underworld. He ordered the demon to cast a curse on the golem, intending to cause it to attack and destroy Melkid.

Unfortunately for Katusa, he erred in his plan.

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The dark druid’s spell confused the golem, and it instead stayed precisely where it was in front of the gates, attacking anything and everyone that came near it.

The townsfolk could no longer leave or enter through the gates, and the archwizard was forced to give up on his assault.

“You would be the first, boy. First to come through the gates since then.”

“How have travelers managed to come and go?” asked Aleph.

“They come through the thick forest to the west. A great deal of monsters live there, but it’s still better than facing down the golem,” the elder replied, smiling faintly as he returned the flute. “I heard ordinary people wouldn’t be able to put the golem to sleep just by playing the flute. You need to be someone special, someone chosen.” He stared at Aleph. “Just who are you, son? Why are you traveling about this dangerous world at such a young age?”

“I’m a descendant. Of Loto,” replied Aleph.

“You’re joking me,” said the elder in surprise, face changing color. “Loto?”

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“Yes. I’m traveling because I’m searching for a way to reach the Dragonlord’s isle,” Aleph continued, and began to relate all of the details of his journey thus far, and about needing the three artefacts once held by the three sages, how he had two of them already, and pulled the Staff of Rain and life stone from his bag to show him.

“I see,” the old man could barely reply. It was all he could do to prevent his body from shaking with excitement. His eyes pierced through Aleph.

“A descendent, then… Ah, yes! I’m unsure if it’s one of the items belonging to the sages, but an old friend, Yukinoff, mentioned something that sounded similar.”

“Who is Yukinoff?”

“He was born in Domdora, and died thirty years ago, but when he was a child he would go on and on about Loto’s armor.”

“His armor?”

“Indeed, the same armor Loto wore when he defeated the Dark Lord.”

“Where? Where in Domdora?” pressed Aleph.

“I wouldn’t know, son,” the elder replied, shaking his head disappointedly.

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“Do you know anything else? Even a small clue, anything would help.”

“Try Kazenoff’s item shop, off of the east road. He’s Yukinoff’s grandson. Maybe he would have heard something,” suggested the elder.

“Thank you!” said Aleph excitedly, putting the Staff of Rain and life stone back into his bag. He was about to replace the fairy flute as well, but paused. “Oh, right. Here,” he said, offering the flute. “You should be able to use it as the town elder, right? Please, play it to protect the townspeople and other travelers.”

“I, I couldn’t possibly,” began the old man, but Aleph pushed the flute into his hands and ran out the door.

“Yukinoff,” said the elder into the darkness, recalling fond memories of his old friend. “He finally came…”

Yukinoff lived his life as an ordinary man, but he loved Alefgaard more than any other. He died dreaming of the second coming of the legend of Loto.

“The legend is reborn, my friend. His descendant is here. Loto’s blood…”

Tears began to trickle down his face. The elder had been dreaming, too, perhaps even more than Yukinoff, that the legend would come true.

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Aleph dashed out of the temple and headed towards the east road. He found the item shop immediately. A wooden ‘closed’ sign was hanging over the entrance, but lights flickered from within, so Aleph pushed on the door. The entrance was narrow but opened into a deceptively spacious shop.

“Loto’s armor?”

Kazenoff, a man in his mid-fifties, stopped his cleanup from behind the counter to glance at Aleph suspiciously.

“Yes. I heard from the town elder that Yukinoff used to live in Domdora and might have known something,” explained Aleph.

“My dead grandpa?” asked Kazenoff and thought for a moment. “Can’t say I heard anything,” he said eventually.

“Then could you tell me anything at all you know about Domdora?” asked Aleph. “Anything you could have heard from your grandfather?”

“Don’t know anything about any armor, but he’d talk my ear off about that old oak tree all the time,” answered Kazenoff.

“The oak!”

“Yeah, I guess there was this giant oak tree that grew in the middle of the town square or sommat.”

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“It’s still there!” said Aleph excitedly.

“That so? Would’ve thought it’d been burnt down when the Dragonlord attacked. The roots’re said to stretch under the church. Big’uns,” Kazenoff said, stretching his arms out wide. “This big. Grandpa said he’d always play around the roots, but his parents and the other people of the town would always yell at ‘im for it. Don’t go near them roots! You’ll get whisked away, they’d say.”

“Taken away?” echoed Aleph.

“Aye, it’s a common superstition. People have been believing that for generations. Grandpa would always talk about it,” he explained with a wistful look, remembering his grandfather Yukinoff. “Why d’you ask about such a thing?”

“Actually, I was born in Domdora,” replied Aleph.

“You were?” Kazenoff stared at Aleph for a moment, then broke out into a great laugh, holding his sides. “Don’t talk foolishness. How ol’ are you, boy?”

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“Fifteen.”

“Figured as much. Just as point-o’-fact, Domdora was attacked by the Dragonlord and razed to the ground fifteen years ago. Everyone was killed. Women, children, even babies. The only people alive from Domdora are people who weren’t around during the attack and people who moved to neighboring villages.”

“It’s the truth. I was born the night of the attack,” insisted Aleph.

Kazenoff shut his mouth. “The night of the attack?”

“Yes. Do you know something?”

“Well, I do know something about a babe that was born the night of.”

“Really? What did you hear?”

“Fifteen years ago, a scraggly, dusty old priest came by the shop just after open to buy some herbs. Said he was coming back from Domdora,” explained Kazenoff.

“What did the priest say?” asked Aleph, excited.

“That he had been at Domdora the day it was attacked.”

“Really!? Where is the priest now?”

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“He was my first customer of the day. I remember pretty well. It was right after the attack, and it seems he was waylaid by monsters on his way here. He had wounds all over. I asked him, why’d you go to Domdora, yeah? Obviously I’d wanna know, right?”

“And what did he say?”

“I’ll tell ye,” Kazenoff began, leaning over the counter and preparing his regale.

“He told me tha’ a beautiful faery came to him one night in the cave he lived in.”

“A faery? Really?”

The race of the faeries is said to not be very fond of humans. They very rarely show themselves except to hermetic sages that live deep within the mountains or to lost travelers that stumble across their homeland by some serendipitous chance.

“The pretty little faery apparently handed over a small, glittering blue stone and told him this. She said, ‘Go to the village of Domdora, in the west. Find the most sinless one there, and give him this stone.’ The priest made preparations that night and made off for Domdora as soon as light broke, he told me. Thought about what the faery said on the way. Once he got there, he looked for a newborn babe, put the stone in his hand and left, so he said. Everyone sins, be it big or small. If he had to pick someone in the whole town that would be the most sinless, it’d have to be a newborn… That was his way of thinking, anyway.”

“That home - my home - where would it have been?” asked Aleph.

“Sorry m’boy, I didn’t hear.”

“Then the family? What was their name?” he asked again.

“I’m sorry,” replied Kazenoff, smiling apologetically.