Armies fight great battles, but individuals fight the greatest and most difficult campaigns within their own minds.  These struggles do not involve the loss of men, equipment, or land; rather they revolve around the loss or attainment of character, integrity, and inner peace.             From the Manual of Discipline found in the library of Vindry--author unknown   Enter the world of The Brazen Serpent Chronicles, and discover Aelandra, a world where magic spans the universe of light and darkness.  Powers rise and fall in consequence of choices made by individuals. The Dragon Masters and Dragons are the ultimate authorities for the eternal realms of light and darkness.  Humanity is caught in the crossfire between powers as old as creation.  Weapons of magic and steel pale in comparison to the importance of honor, courage, and choice.  Join an adventure in a fascinating world filled with history and cultures.  Delve into characters driven by pain, sorrow, love, and hope. Balance.  The key to a defensive posture is balance.  The key to an offensive strike is balance.  A warrior knows that if he can unbalance his opponent, he has won the battle.  In the realm of general living, deviation from principles unbalances a man, and he is easily defeated because he can neither counter nor overcome forces that test and try him.  He is blown like chaff in the wind.              From the Manual of Discipline found in the Library of Vindry--author unknown Reading selection from The Talon of Light “Emory, hold the line here at all costs.  Benjamin, bring your horse and come with me,” Fyan shouted as he broke into a run toward the physicians and his wounded men.  He picked up a shield from the ground near the physicians area, and positioned himself between the wounded and the forest beyond.  He scanned the road and tree line.  Nothing moved, but he sensed seething malice among the silence of the trees.  A predator stalked prey.  His resolve steeled, Fyan walked toward the forest followed by the scout on his horse. A stone formed in the pit of his stomach when he saw the steaming carcass of the messenger and his horse not more than three hundred paces around the base of the cliff on the trail toward Falcon Ridge.  The gleaming whiteness of the messenger’s shoulder bones and skull, and the bare bones of the horse’s haunches relayed a message of agonized death.  Large globs of what looked like spittle still steamed and scorched the grass and body of the young man partially trapped beneath the horse.  The fetid stench of a ruthless death caused Fyan to retch. As he knelt in the grass beside the messenger, his peripheral vision caught slight movement among the trees.  “Benjamin, can you hear me?” The young scout leaned forward in his saddle. “Yes, sir, I hear you.” “Move against the cliff.  When I give the signal, put your heels into that horse and don’t look back until you find friends who can come to our aid.  Do you understand?” “Yes, sir, I’ll find the reserve.” Benjamin edged toward the cliff and Fyan backed away along the road toward the pass and his men.  He struggled to comprehend what he knew to be in the foliage.  Movement of a branch revealed an appendage, and the entire vision began to undulate.  The shift among the tree trunks was a whip like tail of an immense sinuous creature covered with green scales.  The slithering rush of the dragon’s movement sounded like water rushing down a gorge.  The elongated body snaked through the tree trunks until the creature’s head emerged near the top of one of the trees near the road. The dragon’s eyes assessed him as he stood blocking the path.  In swift action the immense creature regurgitated a quantity of deadly spittle.  The sword shocked Fyan.  It responded with a like amount of energy striking the discharge with power that caused the secretion to evaporate before it hit the ground. In a raspy voice the dragon spoke, “What mortal dares hold the Talon of Light in the face of Grene?  I am the Lord of Marshkata fulfilling my oath to the ancient Dragon Master.  Are you an Aelfene warrior raised from the past?” Fyan avoided the dragon’s eyes and tried to ignore the hypnotic sounds.  He perceived internal grunting and subtle inhalation of air.  Legend recalled that Grene spit acidic poison, and Fyan assumed the dragon’s conversation was a pretext to prepare to spit again or physically attack.  As he stepped toward the ancient dragon with emerald scales, a shadow filled the sky and a beautiful creature plummeted hitting Grene from above like a silver thunderbolt. “Ride, Benjamin, ride,” Fyan shouted. The young scout plied his spurs, and the horse responded with a burst of movement.        A great dragon with silver scales sank its talons into the back of the lithe green dragon and clamped its teeth on the emerald neck from behind.  The girth and weight of the silver dragon oppressively crushed the green coils of Grene, but supple loops of the Grene’s tail whipped around the neck of the silver behemoth as if to decollate the intruder.  The longer length and superior experience of Grene compensated for the greater bulk and surprise attack of the silver dragon.  As the two combatants separated, hissing bellows resounded through the pass. Men from the thin reserve line rushed to aid Fyan. “Stay back!” Fyan hollered, but the command was too late. A tree uprooted by the concussive battle between the creatures crushed several men.  Upheavals of earth and sod flew in every direction, pelting the injured and dying in the physicians’ area, while Grene and the silver dragon thundered in the violent conflict.  Fyan’s thoughts turned to the wounded who tried to flee, limping and crawling as ripples from a stone thrown into a pond.  The dragons leveled small trees.  The scene sank beneath an angry sea of violent movement, as the surface splendor of nature transformed into a heated spectacle for survival.  Fyan motioned his men to back away.  “Move the wounded.  Get them out of here.”Men from the reserve assisted the wounded and pulled them as far as possible toward the forest.  Many received additional scalding by acidic droplets spewed by Grene.  Each drop caused excruciating pain.  Agonizing screams pierced the air as men watched their flesh melt.  A man running toward him screamed, “My arm, my arm.” As Fyan turned in his direction, a cone of light gushed from the tip of his sword and struck the man’s arm. “M’Lord Fyan, you’ve healed me.” Fyan stared in wonder at the pulsing traceries of light running like rivers through the blade of the sword.  The power of the sword mitigated the effects of the acid.  “Move the wounded.  Get the men out of here.” “Yes, sir...  Praise to Fyan, defender and healer!” he shouted. Men took up the cheer, but Fyan turned and strode toward the tangled mass of silver and green.  He studied both creatures knotted in the violent death struggle.  The power within the sword urged Fyan to attack, but the chaotic sweep of talons drove him back, keeping him at bay until he dodged the writhing emerald tail and severed it with a clean stroke.  Bereft of balance Grene lost stability and folded under the weight of the silver mountain.  The two creatures rolled twice.  Powerful jaws again clamped on the sinuous green neck.  All motion ceased.  The only movement was the spasmodic twitch of the stump of the green tail.  Then the resplendent silver dragon shook itself free.  Towering over Fyan, it stared at him with large ice blue eyes.  The midday winter sunlight danced on the scales throwing reflections in a myriad of directions. “Fyan, I am Veramag.  Do you trust me?” Fyan simply nodded.  Then a concussive blast knocked him from his feet.  Waves of heat scorched his back.  When he drew breath, his lungs filled with air that felt like hot irons stabbing his chest.Veramag pumped her wings and lifted into the air.  On his knees Fyan turned to view a terrible spectacle.  A furnace had been unleashed on his defensive V of carts and men.  Men screamed in pain from the burns.  Unscathed men tried to catch friends and pull them to the ground to douse the flames.  Through the horror of smoke and fire stalked another dragon with burnished red scales interspersed with patterns of black.  The initial blast of fire from the dragon exploded the reservoirs of oil in the carts flinging liquid fire in all directions. Behind the dragon, obdurate formations of men dressed in silver and black stood motionless like an insidious chorus to a tragic play. Reading Selection from The Caduceus A man cannot walk on two roads at the same time.  If his purpose is divided, he will become unstable and surely fall into the abyss between the roads, but if patient he will find the occasional bridge that will give intersection to the paths for a brief moment.  If he chooses to act rather than linger, he can endure the transition between the roads.  Joy and sorrow are two such roads.              From the Manual of Discipline found in the library of Vindry—author unknown,    but this particular passage was signed by Yael—no other reference given   Chapter 4. One Choice-Two Paths   Annel stumbled over a tree root and fell to the ground.  She struggled to her feet and tried to conjure a path back to Widseth, but anger clouded her emotions and prevented her from configuring any of the abilities she had learned with the Aelfen in Meliandra.  She could travel the light channels with her spiritual essence, but lacked the skill Widseth used to teleport her physical body through a conduit of luminosity.  She drew her dagger from its sheath, slashing at the air until her knees buckled, and she knelt down sobbing.  She stabbed the dagger into the ground repeatedly until she let it fall from her hand.   Sorrow and loneliness, her old foes, were her companions again, as her mind slipped into a world she hated.  She was eleven again, and her mother was not two months in the grave.  Why did she have to relive this?  She heard her uncle’s voice, ringing in her ears.  His foul breath assaulted her nose, and she felt the lash rip through the back of her shirt and into her skin.   “Two coppers won’t pay your keep, girl.  If you can’t steal it, find a way to earn it, or I’ll beat you ‘til you join your mother,” he said.   Every day for thirteen years she ended her waking hours with tears until the most beautiful night, when Widseth rescued her from a beating, and sang one of the eternal melodies.  She could hear the music now, and she could feel the touch of his hand on her cheek and the warmth of his breath on her neck.   She fell forward, embracing the moss on the forest floor.  Her angry sorrow leeched into the moss carpet beneath her, and she lost track of her loneliness.  Curious combinations of aromas of rich loamy soil and fresh raspberries filled her nose, and a sense of timeless wonder invaded her mind.  The only sounds were a dull roar in the distance through the trees and the thin piping of a bird above the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.  Where had Widseth sent her?  She sensed safety in the surroundings, despite her loneliness and anger.  How could she find her way back?  What would they do to him?  Rather, what would he allow them to do to him?  Her thoughts became a measured response to her respiration, and soon she could not tell reality from a dream, as she slipped into peaceful sleep under the morning sun.    A sticky sensation, like honey being separated from its comb, preceded the feeling of air being expelled from her lungs.  Her essence of light pulled away from her material body, and she could see herself below, reposed on the mossy floor.  The separation of spirit and body was not an uncomfortable feeling, as much as it was odd to be able to see the environment and yet have little power to affect it.  The experience was unlike any Annel had undergone in her training.  She had been taught to travel the paths of light and to see the full spectrum and glory of the world unseen by natural eyes.  She could see the minuscule rifts in the elements of unhealthy plants and animals, and she could even effect changes to heal things, but this was different.  Was she dying?  She could see roots entangling her wrists and ankles binding her physical body to the earth.   Radiance gathered into the outline of a doorway near a large oak tree.  Through the glowing mist of light in the doorway Annel began to see the outline of a large object.  Through curtains of light the object moved, weaving a hypnotic pattern that opened a path toward the door.  The door expanded a bit, allowing a head to emerge, but the size of the opening blocked the body of the creature; even so, the head attached to a long scaled neck snaked toward her physical body.  It paused.  Misty vapors wafted from the nostrils, and Annel watched as the dragon exhaled air and in a whispered breath wove unseen patterns over her material body.  Light emanated from the vegetation, and Annel heard the familiar melodies of the eternal world pulsing from every living thing.  The dragon bent low, kissing her brow.  In language she could not understand, the creature chanted a melody with deep guttural tones, sounding as if they emerged from the depths of a well.  The roots entangling her limbs fell away like chaff in the wind.   Annel’s conscious light essence strained to hear the words.    Why wasn’t she permitted to hear the instructions?  A dragon of light ministered to her and she couldn’t understand.  Who was this dragon?  Why had it come to her?   Satisfied, the dragon raised its head and surveyed the forest.  It retreated back into the doorway, stopping every few feet to sniff the air.  Annel sensed the awe the dragon felt as it enjoyed the material world.  The last vestige of the dragon slipped into the glowing curtain in the door, and a man walked through.  He immediately looked up at Annel’s essence and beckoned her to return to her body.  He looked familiar.  She recognized him although she had seen him only twice before in Meliandra.  He had ferried Widseth to Dragada before Widseth became the Dragon Master.  Widseth called him the boatman.  Yes, he was the boatman.  He had ferried her, too.  Why was he here?   “Annel,” he said in a soft, but piercing voice.  “Return now to your body.  There is much for you to accomplish yet.”    He knelt and touched her brow where the dragon had kissed her.  His fingers traced a line from the center of her forehead to her temples.  Appearing pleased, he stood and walked back through the doorway which collapsed on itself until the last residue of eternal light winked from sight.  Annel felt like a whirlpool of energy snared her as her physical body pulled her from above and integrated her conscious light force within the fabric of its structure.