A loud explosion erupted in the midst of the legion; clods of dirt and organic matter rained on the two companions in profusion; Ronan brushed them off and stood, looking out across the field.
The explosion had left a reasonable number for the dwarf to deal with; most of the brubachwycs had been vaporized or crippled by the blast. Ronan thought he saw several dragons above them pause, hovering stationary to sniff the air.
"You almost got me killed, you idiot!" A shrill, bodiless voice screeched. "Tell me next time when you're going to do that!"
Mygdewyn smiled briefly, then rushed ahead, axe raised high. Meanwhile, another legion of brubachwycs and chamaelaeons was converging upon the gate from the other side. Ronan reached into his pouch again and hefted the ball of ashes lightly in his palm.
"Get down, Lilia!" he cried, hurtling the explosive. If the brubachwycs reached the gate, he knew it would be the end for Gil, Aiovel, and Dylan.
Ronan heard a flapping of wings and chanced a look up; a dragon had descended nearby to investigate the area.
"You idiot!" Lilia exclaimed, though not loudly. "He can probably smell those ashes!"
Ronan looked down at his hand, covered in dust. The dragon loomed closer.
"Put that away before you get us both killed!" Lilia screamed.
Ronan nodded weakly, twisting the pouch, and stuffed it into his cloak. He brushed his hands vigorously, then dropped to the ground and covered his hands with dirt.
After a moment, the dragon seemed to lose interest and flapped away. Thankfully, it didn't seem to notice the dwarf, who fought a cluster of brubachwycs nearby.
But as the dragon left, Ronan spied another legion of brubachwycs closing in on them, a smaller troop that had been obscured by the giant creature.
Ronan hesitated a moment in indecision, then stooped to the ground and laid a hand on the grass. He was getting too tired to cast any more lightning spells, but he had another idea.
In the distance, new roots sprung up from the grass, twisting around the brubachwycs' feet; several of them fell to the ground, then tried to stand, only to find themselves held intractably fast.
Yet more brubachwycs kept coming.
Ronan moved the staff that gave him strength into his left hand, and withdrew his silver mace, ready to defend himself—and to do some serious damage.
"Dragoras Rasar!" A shrill voice suddenly cried. A swath of dragon-headed fire burst forth beside him. The fireball fell among the brubachwycs; the startled creatures moaned piteously as the flames consumed them.
The Wand of Dragon Fire! Ronan had forgotten Lilia even had it.
"Take that!" Lilia cried gleefully, getting ready for another blast.
* * * * *
How long had it been since he'd had this much fun? Calatin wondered to himself.
With a chuckle, Calatin cast another illusion between two brubachwycs; the two creatures tore at each other, each one seeing the other as one of the enemy. Calatin enjoyed the challenge of the battle— and coming up with creative ways of dealing with the monster horde.
With alarm, he realized he had allowed a vulpex to approach in his distraction; as the creature sprang toward him, Calatin shapeshifted into a giant turtle. The vulpex rebounded off him harmlessly. In a moment, Calatin had turned into a giant wyvern and engulfed the vulpine creature in flame.
Yes, he was enjoying himself, but he wondered if he had overdone it a bit. Shapeshifting drained more energy from him, though it was not as draining as conjuring living creatures. If he'd created a wyvern from nothing—that would certainly have exhausted his magical reserves for the day. Illusions were by far the easiest magic to use but usually the least effective; however, Calatin had been having fun with them, and using fireballs liberally.
For a moment, he faltered, feeling a momentary headache from overuse of his fire spells. How fortunate he was to have regained his scepter, he thought. He drew much of his magic reserves from the magic stored in it, and it intensified the power of his spells while reducing his spell fatigue. He had even channeled a bit of magic from the dimensional gate into it, turning it into a dimensional key— no doubt Myrddin would soon insist that he try to open the gate with it. After the battle was won and they both had a long rest, though, he thought. Before Argolen fell, Calatin had been saving the scepter for a rainy day— but now a stormy night would have to do.
In a break in the attack, Calatin, still in wyvern form, turned to check up on the others; nearby, he saw Lilia through his own enchantments, using a Dragorian wand against a black dragon that had taken an interest in Mygdewyn. Blinded by the fire, the dragon crashed to the ground in the middle of the field and began to roll out the flames, destroying a legion of chamaelaeons on its own. Extinguished, the dragon returned to the skies, peering about for the one who had sent the fire.
Calatin stole a glance over his shoulder. At the other end of the field, Myrddin's arms were raised to summon a Nature spell. A deep rumbling added to the chaotic symphony of sound around the tower, as an earthquake ruptured the ground below the greatest density of the monster horde. Hundreds of creatures fell into the deep crevice Myrddin had created; then the High Priest made a wide sweeping motion with his arm, and the land closed over them with a horrendous grating sound.
Myrddin fell to the ground, exhausted, letting Nature strengthen him for the battle yet to come.
* * * * *
Mygdewyn whirled around as a brubachwyc leaped forward, teeth snarling, aiming for his throat. In a fury, Mygdewyn batted it aside, crunching bones. Dark, thick blood coated his axe. But the brubachwyc wasn't dead. Enraged, the creature tore toward Mygdewyn, horns thrashing left and right.
With a howl, Mygdewyn chopped the creature's head in two, but the world was spinning. He looked down anxiously; the brubachwyc had torn a gaping hole in his side.
Mygdewyn collapsed weakly into invisible hands.
"Hold on, Mygdewyn!" he heard Ronan whisper affectionately as if from far away. Vaguely, he registered a new clamor rising in the distance; this close to the ground he felt the tremor of thousands of feet approaching. Reinforcements were on their way from beyond the outer ramparts, but Mygdewyn no longer cared.
Ronan looked up in alarm at the sound, but most of the fresh troops surged toward the High Priest and the Wizard Calatin; Mygdewyn lay on the ground, out of sight for now. Where was Lilia with the vial of healing water from Dragoras Spring?
He knew he had no time to wait for her to appear. Despite his fatigue, Ronan put all of his energy into summoning a final spell. He knew Mygdewyn's wound was bad; the brubachwyc had gouged the dwarf with both horns, and Mygdewyn was rapidly losing blood.
Above, Scathaechir's horde circled around aimlessly, bellowing into the sky. A fire erupted between the claws of an enormous dragon, sending out dark vapors; Ronan sensed a spell sweeping out over the field as he concentrated on healing Mygdewyn.
A moment later, the dwarf sat up, disoriented but recovered, thanks to Ronan's healing spell.
Then a fine black mist swirled around them, obscuring all.
Ronan shrieked and dived behind the dwarf, cowering. A few feet away, the invisible Lilia coughed violently, then shook back her hood and began to re-appear slowly.
"Get me out of here!" She screamed in panic, rushing toward the dwarf.
What was happening? Mygdewyn wondered, peering through the thick black fog. Looking down, he saw the small dagger of Maedera at his side, glowing brightly. Of course! Aiovel had told him that it warded off dragon magic! So, the black mist was affecting the others, some kind of fear spell, no doubt.
Mygdewyn grabbed the others and held on to them until the mist cleared; the field grew relatively quiet as the dragons waited for their victims to flee. Lilia tried to wrench herself out of Mygdewyn's grasp, but the dwarf's grip was firm. Ronan's healing spell had invigorated him, and he wasn't about t
o let go.
"Do let go of me, Mygdewyn," Ronan said calmly after a moment. Mygdewyn peered into his face, then obliged, satisfied that the spell had lost its effectiveness on the priest. It took a moment longer for Lilia to recover.
The mist at last began to clear.
"Let me at them!" Lilia screeched at last. "I'll teach them not to make a fool of me!" and with that, she left in a huff, drawing the shadow hood over her head.
Invisible again, Lilia picked her way over fallen carcasses toward the clearing around Calatin and waited for the enemy's reinforcements to arrive. Under the protection of the wizard, she hefted a knife; it twirled end over end, and struck a chamaelaeon at the fore.
Meanwhile, Mygdewyn glanced over the field and shuddered. Galadon's creatures flowed forth like an unending river, and now Ronan's invisible dust was losing effect. His faint outline grew readily discernible, making him seem like a ghost; Mygdewyn could still see clearly through him.
But more discouraging than that was Ronan's obvious state of exhaustion. The priest leaned on his staff heavily, now drained of magic.
Not now! Mygdewyn thought. He couldn't fight and defend the priest at the same time! Mygdewyn felt a sudden despair rising in his heart. Was his heart racing? The steady beating sounded louder.
Mygdewyn looked up. That wasn't his heart!
The thunderous sound of hundreds of wings beat the air. Dragons! More dragons were coming!
Mygdewyn groaned hoarsely. What was the point of fighting any more?
Suddenly, the new fleet of dragons appeared in the distant sky. The bright full moon emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the leader. Mygdewyn jumped up in disbelief.
At the fore, a bright blue dragon soared; in a moment, the other dragons dropped from the sky. Descending with claws extended into the monster legions, they seized several creatures and rose up, dropping them onto others far below.
With a horrendous cry, the black dragons and fire dragons sheered off the battle and plunged toward Galanor and the last of the faithful Dragorians.
Only one dark form still lingered by the gate.
XVIII: Rewards
"My, my, so the boy has magic," Galadon purred, turning to Aiovel with a guarded smile. "But can he control it?"
Gil stepped forward circumspectly. Galadon was right! Coming up with a counterspell was one thing, but Gil had no idea how to summon an offensive one.
"Maybe not," Gil admitted and drew his sword; the blade sang as it slipped easily from the scabbard. "But there are always other means." He added, trying to sound threatening, but there was more of a tremor in his voice than he had intended.
And for good reason. Gil was trying to be brave dealing with limited options, but from what he had seen, Galadon was a far better swordsman than he would ever hope to be. However, Gil reflected briefly, being sensible had never been one of his strong points.
Galadon smiled in amusement, his earlier apprehension negated by Gil's inexperience. Gil sensed he had made the wrong move, but now he was committed. Resigning himself to do his best in the duel, Gil raised his sword.
And found himself launched toward Aiovel, his blade aimed with horrifying precision. Gil struggled, but the Dark Wizard held him firmly in his thrall.
Aiovel darted aside, but Gil kept coming with his deadly sword. Under the influence of Galadon's magic, Gil felt himself move with Galadon's expertise. It was an eye-opening experience for him, but he balked at the price. He didn't want to kill Aiovel! Gil tried to stop, but instead he rushed over the smooth ground, gaining momentum.
With a clang, he and Aiovel locked blades.
"Take the sword from me!" Gil cried, trying to hold back.
"I can't!" Aiovel replied, gritting her teeth. "No Dragorian can wield a sword of Argolen. They hold magic that can harm a dragon!"
"But you're only half Dragorian!" Gil protested in despair, leaning toward her.
"Maybe. Yet it burns my hands to wield it." Aiovel explained, pushing back, and drew in a long whistling breath under the strain. "I can only hold that sword unsheathed. Why do you think I entrusted it to you?"
Gil was beginning to gain the advantage. He felt desperation rising in him as Aiovel began to weaken. What could he do? He didn't want to kill her, but he wasn't strong enough to stop Galadon himself.
Then when hope seemed lost, Gil heard the loud trumpet of a dragon near the ledge outside, a roar that began deep and long then rose in pitch; the eerie call struck a chord of memory in him and sent a shiver down his spine.
He knew that sound.
Gil suddenly broke off; the spell holding him extinguished. Without realizing the enormity of what he had done, he turned to the ledge. A gigantic black shape hovered just beyond, above the battlefield.
Gil swallowed, overcome. At last he had found the dragon who had killed his father and mother! Only now Galadon stood between him and the beast.
In a fury, Gil leapt at the Dark Wizard. If he had to kill Galadon to get to the dragon, well then he would!
"No!" Aiovel shouted, running up from behind.
But Gil didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, extending his sword— and jerked back in shock.
With her talent as a Shadow Elf, Aiovel had appeared between him and Galadon.
"I can't let you kill him, Gil!" Aiovel exclaimed.
What? Gil's mind was reeling.
Even Galadon seemed to share Gil's surprise—not that he was at all grateful for what she had done to save him. Still, surprise at what Aiovel had done seemed to have momentarily incapacitated him; Galadon's brows knitted together in fierce concentration as he tried to puzzle out Aiovel's motives.
But Gil couldn't worry about them; all he could think about was Vaelcruithir, and with vengeance burning in his heart, he charged out onto the ledge.
**Come back, coward!** Gil screamed at the retreating dragon; all of the dragons seemed to be heading in one direction. **I'm talking to you, Vaelcruithir son of Scathaechir!** Gil waited as the dragon turned about and locked its horrific beady eyes on him.
**And how is it that you know who I am?** Vaelcruithir seethed in an attempt to dissemble his apparent curiosity. Most dragons reacted the same way; Gil guessed it wasn't every day that a human addressed them in their own language.
**You killed my father Guilian, and my mother Renay, and for that I'll have your hide tanned into shoe leather!** Gil cried.
Now the dragon was irate. **I'll silence that irreverent tongue of yours, and gobble you whole!** The dragon retorted. **I am a Prince of the Black Dragons! How am I to remember an insignificant human like your father? But I'm sure you will be as tasty as he must have been.** He added mockingly.
The dragon shouldn't have said that. Gil set his chin in determination, feeling a new rush of strength.
Vaelcruithir was nearly upon him when Gil brandished his sword above his head. The young Vaelcruithir regarded it with marked apprehension, but unlike the other dragons Gil had met, Vaelcruithir did not shy away from Gil's sword. Vaelcruithir dove, slashing with his sharp claws. Realizing Vaelcruithir was going to knock the sword from his grasp, Gil leaped aside, rolling.
In a moment, the dragon wheeled about with superior dexterity and attacked again; this time Gil ducked.
Vaelcruithir circled about once more and lowered his head to snap at Gil, no doubt hoping to devour him and be done with it, but Gil darted aside and turned quickly to thrust his sword up, piercing the dragon's mouth.
Vaelcruithir bellowed piteously, as though the sword stung him more than an ordinary weapon would. Then as Gil held onto the sword, the dragon dragged him down the ledge. Vaelcruithir maneuvered, turning about, and Gil was obliged to yank his sword out quickly before he lost it.
Vaelcruithir shrieked in pain as the sword came away and sheered off, heading toward the battle. But Gil wasn't
about to let Vaelcruithir get away so easily.
Gil summoned his courage and jumped onto the dragon's tail. He held on tightly as Vaelcruithir flew away, thrashing his tail and trying to shake Gil off. Gil felt grateful for all of the recent experience he'd had holding onto dragons in flight; without it, he felt certain he would have already been a part of the landscape below.
After a moment, Vaelcruithir's tail stopped threshing about, and Gil saw his chance. He raised his sword and struck Vaelcruithir's tail in one heavy stabbing blow.
At once, the dragon plummeted to the ground. Gil withdrew his sword quickly and held on tightly as his stomach dropped.
**Nasty biting gnat!** Vaelcruithir screeched. **We'll see how you fly!** As the dragon landed, Gil was suddenly tossed to the battlefield, more than fifteen feet below. He landed on hard ground.
Standing, Gil saw that his left arm had broken with the impact, but adrenaline kept him from feeling much of the pain yet. A shard of bone jutted under the sleeve of his tunic; a widening red stain soaked the fabric. Nearby, the dragon Vaelcruithir roared in laughter; the other dragons in the field retreated unceremoniously away from Gil and his sword.
Vaelcruithir hovered alone, certain of victory.
**What are you laughing at, you big coward!** Gil threw back. **Some prince you are!**
**I'll teach you better manners, human!** Vaelcruithir cried, and flew toward Gil one last time, claws clenching and unclenching in anticipation of ripping Gil apart.
Gil broke into a run. Vaelcruithir pursued gleefully, enjoying the chase.
Just as the dragon seemed about to strike, Gil stopped suddenly and ducked. As Vaelcruithir flew past him, still going full speed, Gil thrust his sword upward with all of his might into the dragon's underbelly.
The dragon continued, screeching in torment, carrying Gil's sword with him. Bereft of its owner, the sword seemed to act on its own. Gil thought he saw it twisting maliciously; blue flames seethed around the gaping wound as Vaelcruithir skidded to the ground, barely missing Gil with his tail.
Vaelcruithir let out a piteous wail and tried to move, his tail flicking faintly. Gil had not thought the blow would be fatal, but Vaelcruithir's life seemed to slowly flicker out, as though sucked away by the power contained in the sword. After a moment of ominous silence, the enormous dragon stilled, and the ground was steeped in a dark red river.
Curse of the Dragon Kings Page 29
