Dragon Core

by Sain Artwell

  “We’ve only three days left in the mires,” said Alron, cutting off Fei’s less than subtle suggestion to Sofi.

  Sofi sputtered, nearly shouting. “Th-three days? How? We’ve hundreds of miles between us and the City, and most of it is forest that wants to eat me.”

  “We will borrow a steed from the barbarian tribes,” he replied.

  “I am doomed…”

  “Don’t worry dearie, Fei is here to care for you, with anything you need. Another blanket? Some body-heat perhaps? A swift kiss between girls?” Fei managed to elicit a weak chuckle from Sofi.

  “Four blankets are enough, for now,” Sofi said, and after a moment added, “Thank you, Fei. You’re kind.”

  “A-ny-time. Mlev’s friend is our friend. We would burn nations for you, were you but to ask.”

  “Ah-he-he. Unnecessary, but I appreciate the thought.”

  “Individual wyrmkin then? Former slave masters, or foremen? Everyone has enemies who need burning,” Fei pressed.

  “I’m not certain. Well, maybe? Can you give me time to think about it? I wouldn’t want anyone to die unnecessarily by my account.”

  “Hm,” Alron grunted, deciding not to voice his disapproval. He kept eyes on the woods ahead, listening to the rustles.

  Fei could not be blamed for the lack of trying, but the longer the stilted flirting went on, the more awkward and reserved Sofi grew. She seemed wise to Fei’s wiles. Good for her.

  The butterfly sprite fluttered off of Alron’s horn. As if reading his mind, the little critter stayed on the same root-bridges and paths as him, always a step ahead.

  Beasts and birds of the woods quieted. Only the sibilant buzz of sprites and the voices of Fei and Sofi remained.

  Fei, they’re close. I expect we’ll be allowed to make our case, but be on your guard, Alron sent.

  I noticed. There’s a faint hallucinogenic vapor in the air suffused with malignant vis. I doubt it’ll have the strength to affect us at this potency, but you may want to add a little soulfire into your breathing, just in case.

  Thank you. Alron began to add a trickle of soulfire to his inhales, purifying all foreign vis. And Fei.

  Yes?

  Behave, regardless of what they say.

  Pah, do you take me for a wet hatchling? I’ve no issues tempering my reactions.

  The sprite flew through a veil of hanging lichen, then another, then a third, and several more, until Alron realized they’d entered a tunnel of ghostly veils. Pale green roots arched overhead. Behind them, roots entwined into a solid wall. Misty vapors wafted from underfoot, tickling strangely at the senses.

  “What’s happening? Things are blurry…” Sofi asked, blinking as she swayed.

  “Shh, calm dearie,” said Fei, gathering the girl against herself. “Breathe. Fire in. Smoke out. Fire in… That’s it. That’s a good dearie.”

  The traitorous butterfly circled them provocatively.

  Alron raised his voice to address their hosts. “Rude of you to receive guests without so much as showing yourselves. Do you not recognize me?”

  Through the buzz of sprites spoke a voice with the power of a thundercloud. “You are known to us, slayer of Wealdborn the Dragongod. We’ve invited no enemies to our grove, and certainly no unnatural blasphemies of star sorcery.”

  “Then, by now you should know I did not come here to kill you. We may not be enemies anymore,” said Alron, his voice relaxed and calm.

  “Speak. We shall listen, and decide your fate.”

  “Listen then, as I ask: Is the advantage this paltry trap grants you of greater benefit than the chance to earn my good-will? Choose wisely.”

  A moment passed, then another.

  Roots shifted, veils of lichen lifted, and mists dispersed. Once the forest had come to a rest, Alron and company stood on an island of roots in the middle of a wide pond. Branches above hung heavy with more moss than leaves.

  Three long bounds from Alron, the butterfly joined an enormous swarm of its kin. Dark waters bubbled beneath them as a figure emerged.

  First rose shoulders as wide as a row-boat, followed by a twelve foot tall wyrmkin covered in crocodilian scales. His blocky face resembled an antiquated machine of war, and from his chin hung a beard of tendrils adorned by jadegold rings.

  “Speak,” spoke the Lord of Old Wealds, with all the authority of a king on his throne.

  Alron threw one of his sacks on the ground. Its contents spilled all over the roots. The organ-shaped vestiges glowed beneath a layer of dried brown viscera belonging to the Ascendancy’s warriors.

  “A thousand-one-hundred-and-one vestiges from three-hundred-fourty-three warriors of the Ascendancy,” said Alron. “I suspect you can make use of them.”

  Given the disapproval on the Lord’s face, Alron might as well have spilled a bucket of excrement on his bed. However, Alron could tell that behind his facade of calm, the Lord struggled to suppress his glee. Exotic vestiges from foreign dragongods were priceless to a rural barbarian tribe surrounded by enemies.

  “What’s this?” the Lord asked, his milky white eyes locking on Alron’s. “A bribe to purchase safe passage?”

  Alron tried not to laugh. “No. My safety is guaranteed by my own claws. This is a gesture of good-will, payment for a steed, an invitation to join my war, and proof of my might. I will bring the Ascendancy to its knees. You need only swoop in afterwards to make sure the fires I set won’t go out until all is ash.”

  The Lord stalked the island slowly, a mantle of butterflies trailing him. “Hmm. You wish us to risk everything so that we might lick leftovers from a city you’ve already looted?”

  “I will take only what I can carry with my own two hands. The wealth will be yours.”

  Greed twinkled in the Lord’s eyes. “Never did we think to see this day. The fabled masterpiece of Sorcerer King turning his back on his own? You stand behind your words, a blind man could see that. But, we wonder: Are you up to the task? You speak of bringing down the Ascendancy. Have you not seen their nature defying machines? Can one man still face thousands in this age, or is the era of true awakened masters over? Why should we trust your ability, when we can end you here and extract vengeance for ending our beloved Wealdborn?”

  Because he brought you a sack of vestiges, you sack of shit? Fei groaned inside Alron’s head.

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Alron to the Lord.

  The Lord paused. “We’re glad you’re able see it through our eyes.”

  “Shall we end the courtship here then? I can see you’re itching to test whether I live up to whatever myths you’ve heard,” Alron said, laying his sack of explosives and other supplies on the ground behind him.

  The Lord’s lips curled up, flashing a shark-toothed grin. His gaze ignited with bloodlust, and the butterflies of light began to flick about wildly. “Yess… Even a starmade blasphemy has enough dragon in them to understand. Good. Very good,” he murmured, cracking his thick neck as long claws extended from his fingertips. “We cannot deny it. We’ve longed for this moment ever since you killed Wealdborn. After all, one could hardly believe that a mortal can slay a dragongod, not without tasting his claw firsthand.”

  When the Lord stepped forward, Alron held up his hand. “I am here to prove my strength, not to beat a single wyrmkin into the ground. Pick at least ten of your strongest awakened to back you up.”

  The Lord threw his head back in a guffaw. “BWAHAHA! Very good! Very good. This is how you should be. However corrupted, Grovemother’s vis still runs in your veins. You make my vis stir as if I were a wyrmling again. This is it. This is how life should be. Unfortunately, only four awakened masters accompany me today, but hold nothing back.”

  “I would never show such disrespect.” Alron dragonized his wings and clothes, wreathing himself from neck to toe in an armor of scales.

  The Lord glanced to the side, and made a beckoning gesture.

  Roots and bark bundled up from the treeline near the pond, sculpting the
rough figure of a mature woman without eyes. She glided above the pond on a dress of woven roots. Amber claws tipped her fingers, and a crown of antlers grew through her wooden hair, but she was no wyrmkin. The woman was an awakened tree, or more accurately—given how the woods around them shifted with her presence—an entire sentient forest.

  Rustling of the canopies harmonized into a slow husky voice. “We are… Rootwhisper… it is… an honor.”

  “Likewise,” replied Alron.

  From the other side of the pond emerged a towering quadrupedal beast. At its shoulders, the creature eclipsed even the Lord himself. Colors of the weald alternated in its striped fur. Ten claws sprouted from each of its barrel-sized paws. It glared at Alron with perfectly round feline eyes set in an unnaturally wrinkled humanoid face. Misty vapors spilled from its hooked nose, and through its tusks and saberteeth.

  “Wispfather,” growled the Wispfather.

  “This is the Dragonslayer?” scoffed a nasal voice from Wispfather’s back. A winged monkey rode him.

  Colors shifted along its plumage. The monkey would’ve blended perfectly with the surroundings if not for a bleached wyrmkin skull it wore as a helmet, and its spear, which glimmered with the metallic green of jadegold. A vestige studded in its blade pulsed with a warm amber glow.

  “Smells no different, no different from any other wyrmkin awakened master.” The monkey’s words elicited a loud buzzing from the sprites fluttering around the Lord, which in turn earned a chuckle from the monkey. “Doubtful, but soon we’ll see. Won’t we, mister dragonslayer?”

  Kill that one, by accident, said Fei.

  The swarm of butterflies coalesced into a nude wyrmkin. She had a petite frame with a long thin tail and a singular slender horn on her forehead. Her eyes met Alron’s, and she whispered a greeting too quiet for him to hear. Then, as quickly as she’d formed, the woman once more dispersed into glowing sprites.

  Fei, stay out of my way and make sure Sofi does the same.

  Nnng, I’m jealous. It’s been ages since I faced another master of the Living Flame. Be wary, she is skilled. Not that you wouldn’t know it already, or that you wouldn’t win. Just don’t let her get a claw in your lungs.

  Fret not. Alron ignited soulfire in his lungs, as his five foes spread around him. Exhaling a wisp of azure flames, he spoke with the calmness of a night tide, “Come, show me everything you have.”

  A flood of mist poured through the giant feline’s mouth, blurring everything beneath its green blanket. Though Alron cycled Soulfire in his breaths, the mist burned his skin, and brief mirages blurred his vision.

  The roots beneath Alron surged for his flesh with the hunger of carnivorous worms, and attempted to engulf him. With the help of his wings, Alron hopped from one knobby end of a root to another, evading their sluggish grasp for him with relative ease. Behind the thickening cloud of mist, the entire forest climbed higher to entomb Alron in a wooden dome.

  Unnecessary, really. Alron was not about to abuse the advantage of flight—not that his wings had healed enough to allow him to do so reliably. A victory eked out over an extended time would not suffice here.

  Only a pure display of dominance would win the hearts of wealdfolk. It had to be decisive. Swift. Brutal. And above all, overwhelming. For that purpose, he decided to measure his foe.

  Buzz of sprites and soft whispers lingered around Alron. Toxic mist numbed his sense of smell. All he could see was the mist illuminated by his soulfire.

  Then, silhouettes lunged at him.

  A gigantic paw swiped at Alron’s head. From the other side came the whipping of a wide crocodilian tail, its end tipped in blade-like scales.

  Alron fed vis to his vestiges, gaining strength and speed. He struck a fist against the incoming paw, the edge of his wing against the tail, and sank his second wing into the roots to anchor himself.

  The Lord’s tail struck sparks off his scaled wing. Alron’s fist met a paw. His back nearly buckled beneath the weight of the gigantic feline. Ten claws wrapped around his arm. Both the lord and the feline continued their assault, their claws, teeth, and tails merging into one flurry of death. Butterfly sprites appeared on their limbs, seemingly pushing them forward, further enhancing their already considerable strength.

  When Alron moved his remaining limbs to intercept the two, the monkey made his move.

  So deft was his spear that Alron didn’t see the glimmering jadegold blade until it was a palm’s width from his eye. Alron threw his head down, parried the blade aside with his horn, and bit on the shaft to seize it in place. The amber vestige began to bubble with viscous substance, but before it could ooze all over him, Alron blew out a burst of soulfire, burning out whatever vis the monkey had channeled into the spear.

  In that same moment, Alron punched his claw through the feline’s and impaled its other paw with his toe-claws and blocked the Lord’s attacks with his wing and claw, until all three of the foes engaged with him were pinned down.

  Roots began to encircle Alron’s ankles, and spikes protruding from them attempted in vain to penetrate his scales. Four foes groaned as they struggled to overwhelm Alron with their combined strength. Alron could hear the sinew stretching, the muscles tearing, and saw the veins popping on his foe’s faces.

  “You are strong,” said Alron, his arm trembling as he pushed against the giant feline. “Amongst the greatest of awakened masters I’ve fought. No wonder you’ve avoided being subjugated by the Ascendancy.”

  “Ha,” the monkey sneered, sweat beading down his nose as he tried to get his spear free. “You think this is enough to impress us?”

  “Be silent, Shimmerbeard!” the Lord hissed, flashing a glare at his comrade.

  The green furred monkey’s eyes narrowed behind his skull helm. “I only speak the thought you dare not voice out loud.”

  Alron chuckled. “I see you are not done yet. So be it. Now that you’ve attacked and shown your strength, allow me to demonstrate mine in turn.”

  Drawing deep from his source, Alron flooded his heartstrings with vis, enhancing his strength beyond any mortal wyrmkin or beast. Alron jerked his neck to the side with a flick that threw the monkey into the feline’s face.

  The winged monkey spun around to dodge the feline; however, it received the jadegold haft across its eyes. Its claw loosened around Alron’s arm. Alron seized the moment to stick his hand into the creature’s hooked nose and grab it by the skull.

  Roots binding Alron to the ground now became an advantage. Alron rarely had the torque necessary to make the most out of his strength, but now…

  Now he tossed the giant beast overhead the way he’d toss a sack of rocks, and aimed it at the Lord. Lord and Wispfather went tumbling through the mist.

  Alron swept his wing at the monkey, forcing it to let go of the spear or be cut in half. The monkey hissed, disappearing into the mist. Alron spun the jadegold weapon into a single-handed grip. In a flash of wing and spear slashes, he shredded the roots binding his legs, and sprinted after the Lord.

  Wispfather blew a thick column of mist against Alron’s charge. It did not slow him. The Lord attempted to intercept from the side with a tail-slash followed up by stabs of his claws, but Alron batted his wing in the Lord’s face and shrugged him off. Having been stripped of its weapon, the winged monkey was similarly impotent before Alron, who sent it flying through the wooden dome with an air-cracking backhand.

  Alron reached Wispfather and whipped his face with the haft of the spear, as if it were a stick. Wispfather tried to claw at him. The Lord attempted to reach him. The screeching monkey dove at him again and again like a meteor-bird with a death wish. Alron raked bloody trails on the cat’s face with the spear haft. Roots rose from the ground to form a barricade of stakes aimed at Alron, buying his foe a second’s reprieve. Glowing butterflies swarmed around the feline’s face, knitting together broken flesh. A fleshmender and a master of Living Flame. Excellent.

  Them having a competent fleshmender meant Alron didn�
�t have to worry about accidentally killing anyone, so long as he avoided destroying the heart or head.

  He didn’t have to hold back this much.

  The monkey was his first victim. The creature came at him again, attempting to retrieve its spear and stab Alron with a bladed toe coated in venom. Alron grabbed it by the throat, punched his open claw through its abdomen, and threw it through the ceiling of the wooden dome.

  A swarm of butterflies tried to go after him. Alron drew a deep breath and squeezed the echo of Fei’s vestige, conjuring as much soulfire as he could. His fire filled the wooden dome. Soulfire consumed all vis it touched, replacing the vibrant greens with dead grays. Whittled remnants of the Living Flame woman’s butterfly swarm coalesced into a protective ball. It seemed she wasn’t yet out.

  Alron sprinted across the uneven landscape, and threw up a wide blast of soulfire on her from point-black range. A figure of a screaming woman became visible. Alron stabbed the jadegold spear through her neck, pinning her down with the vis conducting metal.

  The battle had been won already, but Alron was not satisfied. He needed to be faster than this, stronger than this, better than this.

  He kept squeezing power from the twin heartstrings, and launched himself at the giant feline. It tried to claw at him, and the Lord tried to support him, but Alron’s wings were an impenetrable defense against them. He ducked inside the cat’s claws and pummeled its body, punching it against the wooden dome, and through.

  Alron turned around at the hole, surveying his remaining foes. The Lord stepped out from the misty dome, his bulky jaw tense and eyes calculating.

  “I’ll skip battling against Rootheart,” Alron said, “I much doubt I’d be able to harm her without ripping vestiges from her roots, and truly ending her.”

  “That’s fair,” replied the Lord, cracking his neck as he stepped right up against Alron.

  Alron met his glare. “Is there any need to finish this?”