Even Heroes Must Die
Sadyra dropped to her knees, Silurian’s sword clanging off a rock on the ground before her. It was over. Helleden lay dead at the dragon’s feet. The tumultuous emotions of the last few days had sapped her strength. She buried her face in her hands and wept. If the dragon meant her harm, she was powerless to do anything about it.
A slight breeze played in her hair, not strong enough to lift her auburn locks matted with blood and dirt. Moans and the odd creak of someone’s armour in the distance let her know she wasn’t alone on the hill above Fishmonger Bay.
Warm breath washed over her as a rough-skinned snout gently nudged the back of her hands.
She froze, afraid to move. Afraid to peer through her fingers at what she knew to be there. A black scaled dragon with a mouth large enough to swallow Pollard whole.
Pollard!
She fell back on her rump and spun a few steps down the trail. She spared a quick glance at the gargantuan beast watching her and scrambled to where her love had fallen.
She was forced to hop from one dead demon to another until she reached his side. She placed her hands over her mouth, trembling. He lay unmoving, his eyes staring vacantly at the sky. The dagger she’d left with him had slipped from his grasp.
She shook him, not wanting to believe what she knew to be true. He had left her.
She fell across him, her thin arms hugging his girth.
The ground shook several times but she didn’t care. Let the world crumble around her, she had no reason to go on.
A hot breath ruffled her hair. Had she not been so distraught she would’ve shrieked seeing the array of curved fangs as long as her legs brush by her and nuzzle at Pollard.
Don’t cry, little one. I am with you. Let me see what I can do.
It didn’t dawn on her that she was able to hear the dragon without the aid of Silurian’s sword. She wiped at her face and regarded the beast with contempt. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough!”
At once she felt the hurt inflicted by her words. “It’s too late. Help the others if you want. Leave me alone.”
Too late for a mortal, perhaps. I am a dragon.
“He’s dead.” She barely got the last word out.
Lurker nuzzled into her. I cannot bear your pain, little one. You must trust me.
Her chest hurt. She found it hard to breathe. Her heart couldn’t take any more. Why couldn’t the dragon just leave her alone?
Lurker pressed his snout against her, gently pushing her aside.
She tried to push his head away but she might as well have tried to push a tree.
The dragon leaned his nose so close to Pollard’s face she feared the beast was about to eat him. Picking up her discarded dagger, she lifted it high to strike.
A translucent green vapour drifted from Lurker’s nostrils, tendrils fluttering between the dragon and Pollard, curling around his face and drifting into his nose.
Lurker lifted his head high above them.
She lowered her dagger and leaned in, holding her breath, but nothing happened.
Lowering her eyes in defeat, she dropped the dagger and shook with despair.
A subtle movement made her gasp. She watched on in disbelief as Pollard’s eyes blinked, not once, but twice.
His head turned toward her and a feeble smile twitched at his lips. “Ahh, Sadie. My dream came true.”
Olmar bent down and lifted Larina to her feet with one hand, his eyes tracking the dragon’s progress away from where Sadyra smiled down at what could only be Pollard. He heard her joyful laugh and knew his friend had survived—for the time being at least.
Larina shrugged out of his grasp and inspected a deep cut in his armour beneath his right armpit, the thick leather stained by more than just sweat. “Olmar, you’re hurt.”
“Bah, ain’t nothin’ but a flesh wound.” Olmar swatted her motherly administrations aside. “We need to be seein’ to Pops an’ the others.”
“What about that thing? You think it’s safe.” Larina indicated the dragon standing over the mound of black robes sprawled in the middle of the scorched earth, sniffing at them.
“Only one way to find out, lassie. The beastie kilt ‘elleden, so I’m to be thinkin’ ‘e’s a good egg.”
He grasped Larina’s hand in his mitt and strolled over, giving the dragon a wide berth.
The dragon lifted its head.
“Easy now, big fella, ol’ Olmar’s just checkin’ on me mates is all. No need to be gettin’ all fiery.”
Larina smiled despite the obvious danger. Olmar appeared no bigger than a puppy against the bulk of the black beast.
A moan sounded from underneath the wizards’ cloaks as the robes fell aside and Silurian and Melody sat up with confusion on their faces as they surveyed the battlefield. Their attention fell on the grey-haired man between them.
Alhena groaned and sat up himself, blinking at Olmar and Larina, half of his head and face devoid of anything but shrivelled hair.
Omar’s eyes bulged. He tried to stifle his building laughter but the stunned look on Pops’ face caused him to bend over double, slapping his thigh. “Oh, Pops! Ye’ll be doin’ anythin’ to be funny!”
Melody and a much chagrinned Alhena spent the morning combing through the battlefield attending to the injured and easing the passing of those beyond help.
They left their scorched, fireproof cloaks on the trail, the garments’ usefulness at an end. They were never intended to deflect dragon fire.
Sadyra went with them, Lurker following close behind. The dragon possessed healing magic neither wizard had experienced before; the creature able to bring the less damaged people back to life providing he got to them fast enough. Unfortunately, most of the victims had been dead too long to make a difference.
Olmar assisted the townspeople in pulling bodies free of the demon corpses. They fed them into a pyre; a plume of greasy, black smoke drifted toward the Summoning Stone.
They came across a bald-headed man with a broken nose staring vacantly at the ground beside him—another victim of Helleden’s sorcery.
Tears flowed freely down Sadyra’s cheeks as they watched the man’s children carry him away. “He was a good man.”
Melody held her close.
“Over here!” Larina shouted from a spot beyond the grisly remains of Helleden.
Silurian and Larina stood staring down at the gruesome remains of Karvus Kraken, the Emperor of the Kraidic Empire—his body almost burnt beyond recognition.
Lurker hung back, his head hung low.
“It’s not your fault,” Sadyra whispered, patting the thick hide on his foreleg.
Melody took one look at Karvus and walked away. She returned moments later with the remains of her cloak.
She knelt and draped it over the emperor, covering his lidless eyes and melted body. From such uncertain beginnings within the Serpent’s Nest, the man had proven himself many times over. She whispered to his lifeless body. “The world owes you a great debt. People like you come along once in a lifetime. This witch will miss you.”
Sadyra shook her head. “I don’t know how he managed to walk, let alone wield that weapon of his in the state he was in. If he hadn’t intervened, none of us would be alive.”
Silurian knelt on the emperor’s far side, locating a necklace beneath his burned clothing. Using Soulbiter, he severed the thong and held the Serpent’s Eye aloft—the ring glaring methodically in circles from Melody to Alhena to Lurker.
Melody overheard Olmar speaking quietly to Larina.
“I’ve ‘eard about that ring from Pops. It knows when magic is about. It’s called the Serpent’s Eye.”
“It detects magic?”
“Of course, it’s the eye of the serpent.”
“You mean it’s made from a real serpent?”
Melody smiled briefly but her mirth faded as she watched Silurian painstakingly smooth the makeshift shroud covering Karvus. The two men had been bitter rivals but, in the
end, perhaps with the exception of Silurian’s tales of Pollard, she couldn’t think of a more formidable fighting duo.
Silurian unsheathed Saint Carmichael’s Blade and drove it into the ground by Karvus’ head.
Melody bowed her head, thankful she had given the emperor a chance to prove himself. When Silurian spoke, she heard the pain in his voice.
“Sadyra speaks truly. We owe our lives to this man.” He looked away, his gaze somewhere over the ocean, the water now visible through the blackened husks of the trees.
Silurian cleared his throat. “You honoured us with your company, Emperor Karvus Kraken. I bid you safe travels as you join your ancestors in the Halls of Hafgufa, the resting place of the Kraidic warrior. You are proof that even heroes must die.”
Soul Forged
Alhena took a moment to pat down his dishevelled robes as he watched the cheeky, freckle-faced Sadyra wing away atop Lurker’s neck. What an exhilarating ride it had been. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think to fly a dragon.
It didn’t take long for Lurker and Sadyra to rise over the Undying Wall and disappear. He felt happy for the young woman. She had a promising life ahead of her.
The sack at his feet tempered his spirits. He bit his lower lip, firming up his resolve. There was nothing to do about it. It must be done.
Clutching his glowing staff in one hand, infusing his body with more strength than he had a right to possess, he dragged his grisly package down the steep trail leading into the Gulch.
Shadowy creatures followed him along the murky trail but he had no concerns. They would be foolish to meddle with their master’s sport.
At the bottom of the trail, he stopped, gazing at the eternal fog shrouding the brackish waters of Splenic Splash, and considered his fate.
Scary as it was, he consoled himself with the fact that had he not been drawing power from his staff for the last several decades, he would’ve died long ago. It was time.
A horn sounded in the distance, its blare muted by the dense fog. The Aberrator was coming.
The horn blared two more times and the layer of mist on the water parted, revealing a gangly, dark-skinned man, his face hidden behind a colourful wooden mask atop a long neck. He held a long whisker in each hand to steady himself as he rode an elephant-sized catfish onto the shore.
Before the scary fish ground to a halt, the gapped-toothed lunatic jumped high into the air and landed beside Alhena. He ducked low, examining Alhena’s legs and carried up the old wizard’s body; stopping periodically to emit a series of bizarre clicking noises with his tongue.
Without warning, the Aberrator jumped up and bounced around, laughing heinously, his yellowed teeth visible through a jagged hole cut into the mask.
Alhena abided the spectacle with learned patience. He’d seen it before.
“Ah, bahahaha! Phazarus, you have come,” the Aberrator declared, dipping low to look around Alhena. “Where is the fire breath?”
Alhena knew who the necromancer meant. He was surprised the Aberrator hadn’t known of Lurker’s presence at the edge of the Gulch.
“He is not coming.”
The Aberrator clicked his tongue several times. “That is not good. That is our deal. Without the fire breath you force me to search out your friends. Bahahaha! Fine addition to my army they will be, no?”
“No.”
The Aberrator stopped bouncing, stiffening at Alhena’s response. He leaned in, touching his mask to Alhena’s face. Bloodshot eyes peered at him from behind the wooden mask. The man’s sour breath turned up Alhena’s nostrils.
“I bring you something better.”
The Aberrator clicked a few times, his head and upper torso leaning backward over his hips as he looked around. He located the burlap sack and tilted his head. “There?”
Alhena nodded.
The Aberrator jumped back as if a viper had struck out at him. He pulled his tubular length of wood from over his back and shook it about—an eerie rattle escaping the bamboo shoot.
The Aberrator took a couple of slow steps toward the bag like he was sneaking up on it. He jumped back again and came at it from a different angle.
Hovering over it, he placed the tip of his rattle in the bag’s opening, but pulled out, his head shooting upward to stare into Alhena’s milky white eyes. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
The Aberrator bent low, the rattle lifting the opening. He pulled out and jumped around, the man’s sudden actions not doing Alhena’s nerves any favours.
The Aberrator stepped in close, his mask against Alhena’s face. “Is it dangerous?”
Alhena shrugged. “That is yet to be seen.”
The Aberrator growled, his voice low. “I sense treachery in you, old man.”
“Hah. Who is the old man here?”
The Aberrator pressed his mask into Alhena’s face as if he was trying to induce a reaction but Alhena was no longer afraid of the necromancer.
“Bahahaha!” The Aberrator gyrated circles around Alhena and the sack.
Faster than Alhena could follow, a curved knife slit the bag open and the Aberrator jumped back.
“Ahhhhhhh. What have we here?” He inched closer, bending low, craning his long neck. “Is that…?”
Alhena nodded. “Helleden Misenthorpe. What is left of him, anyway.”
The Aberrator nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes! You have done good. This pleases me, wizard. I can rebuild him.”
Poking at the foul-smelling remains, the Aberrator growled, “Where are his baubles?”
Alhena had feared the crafty dark magician would ask that. “They are in a safe place. They won’t harm anyone ever again.”
The Aberrator lifted his mask. Sagging pale skin hung off the skull of what appeared to be a living corpse as the necromancer spoke with a deep voice. “We shall have to see about that, hmm?”
Alhena shuddered.
The Aberrator slammed his mask back down, emitting a shrill whistle.
Two partially decomposed people staggered into the clearing and dragged the sack away. Alhena wasn’t sure of their gender.
The Aberrator leaped and jumped around the clearing, shaking his rattle tube. “Come, Phazarus. We must go, yes? A great phantasmic ritual awaits your unhallowed sacrifice. A powerful Grimward you shall become.”
Alhena hesitated at the side of the swamp as the catfish submerged itself until only the top of its scaly hide remained visible. He gagged at the smell.
Wrapping a bony arm around Alhena’s shoulders and guiding him onto the fish’s back, the crazed necromancer reached down to retrieve four of the catfish’s whiskers, handing two to Alhena.
“Hang on. Bahahaha!” The Aberrator emitted a series of clicks.
The fish pulled away from the bank, drifting rapidly into the heart of the swamp—the enveloping mist smothering the light of Alhena’s staff.
Silurian gazed out over the calm water of Madrigail Bay from a trail ledge high upon Pantheon Rock. Far below, hundreds of boats bobbed peacefully on the soft swells drifting down the channel.
Gerrymander sat at anchor in the middle of the harbour, her great sails furled. He was sure he saw Ithnan and Ithaman bustling about the rigging. Longsight’s berth in the mainmast crow’s-nest sat empty.
He couldn’t hold back the wry smile cleaving his face. Although the time aboard the solid brig had been perilous to say the least, he also had fond memories of his time at sea. Bittersweet, he corrected himself, remembering those who had never made it back.
The memory of the brawny sailor, Tara, curtailed his smile. What a lioness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had briefly entertained a future with that one.
How different life might be if only…? He sighed. It was never a good idea to go down that road—he’d done so for almost two and a half decades.
He breathed deeply of the brine on the air and exhaled loudly. It was time for him to go.
“You ready?”
Melody stretched and stoo
d up from where she sat on a rock, gathering her wizard’s robes and collecting her staff. She picked up the old leather diary sitting beside her. One they had found within Helleden’s robes. Within its pages she had discovered a wealth of historical information regarding dragons. “Ya. I guess. It’ll be hard leaving everyone.”
Silurian nodded, not trusting his voice. He wasn’t looking forward to parting with the dear companions who had risked their lives many times over the last few months because they had believed in him.
“Oh, Alhena.” He stopped and wiped his eyes. Melody put an arm around him and squeezed, her own eyes misting up.
For as long as he lived, he didn’t think he’d ever understand what had possessed the crazy old wizard to return to the Gulch. Everyone had begged him not to, assuring him they would face this bone magician together. In the end, they had respected his wishes.
Silurian was thankful the last image he had of his old friend was the look of wonder on his wrinkled face as Lurker took flight.
He returned Melody’s hug and started off again, following the meandering trail as it cut back on itself several times down to the burial cavern entrance where Captain Thorr, Larina and Olmar awaited.
“Och, me and Cap’n been thinkin’ you two need to ‘ang on a while longer. The kingdom be needin’ good fighters, an’ that’s sure.”
Silurian couldn’t help but smile. Something about the bumbling giant brought joy to his heart. He held out a hand to shake, flinching as Olmar dragged him into one of his bone-crunching hugs, lifting him off his feet.
“Olmar.” Captain Thorr came to his rescue.
Melody took Silurian’s place in Olmar’s embrace, but he treated her with gentle care, crying unabashedly onto the top of her blonde head.
“Oh, stop blubbering, you big baby,” Larina said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Silurian laughed and gave the archer a warm embrace. “You take care of him. He’s special.”
Larina pulled away and winked. “Oh, he’s special alright.”
Soul Forge Saga Box Set Page 104
