Darius and the Dragon's Stone

by D. L. Torrent

“Get back inside!” yelled Prydon.

  Darius looked up to see the two in battle. He could hardly believe that Prydon was losing! As they flew about each other, flames and claws created a cascade of color and pain. Fraenir tore at Prydon’s leg, the sound of breaking bones echoing in the clearing. Darius tried to use his staff to stop Fraenir, but they were too high up, and their fight raged on.

  Prydon was struggling to stay in the air, and as Fraenir swept his claws across Prydon’s other wing, Darius saw it. A dragon’s stone was glowing in Fraenir’s chest…the reason for Fraenir’s success.

  “How?” gasped Darius.

  Prydon fell the ground, the bones in his wings shattered. Fraenir landed nearby and roared a sinister victory.

  Darius darted between them. “Don’t touch him! Just stay away!”

  “Darius, no,” gasped Prydon, struggling to breath out the words.

  Fraenir leaned down so his face was right in front of Darius. “I have a debt to collect, the payment Prydon’s life.”

  Darius jumped back and ran directly in front of Prydon. Fraenir laughed and quickly closed the small gap that had been between them, his jaws wide as if to devour Darius in one bite. But as Fraenir took the last step to reach his target, Darius lunged forward and raised his staff. A bolt of fire shot into Fraenir’s chest, directly over the stone. The beast faltered, his eyes filled with surprise, but he lunged toward Prydon.

  “You think you can protect him?” Fraenir growled, curling his head around to look down at Darius.

  Fraenir place his front leg directly on Prydon’s chest and began crushing it. Prydon screamed in pain, and Darius was shocked as he saw blood run from his best friend’s mouth.

  “Stop!” Darius yelled, and he ran to Fraenir.

  Fraenir opened his mouth to consume Darius, but before he could even lower his head, Darius stabbed his sword deep into Fraenir’s chest, shattering the dragon’s stone.

  Fraenir fell back. He opened his jaws and seemed to struggle to breath. Darius’s pulled out the sword, and Fraenir fell to the ground. Within seconds, the creature’s body caught fire and was reduced to a pile of red ash, the fragments of stone lying lifeless at the edge of the heap.

  Darius ran to Prydon’s side, throwing his weapons aside as he dropped to the ground next to his friend. Sobbing, he began rubbing the blood away from Prydon’s mouth. “You’re going to be alright.”

  Prydon coughed. “No, but at least I die in peace.”

  “Don’t say that!” cried Darius. “I have to save you!”

  Prydon’s breathing was labored as he struggled to speak. “You must save Brandor…the book.”

  “Forget the book,” said Darius.

  He searched with his hands trying to discover what he should do. He leaned his head against Prydon’s side, searching his memory, but there were no words of healing, no words of resurrection. His eyes scoured his friend, and pain shot down his throat like a hot coal.

  Blood-stained scratches wove harsh patterns over Prydon’s body, and deep gashes dug into the flesh on his side and neck. One of his wings unnaturally twisted over his back, while the other was a mangled mess of broken bones, the flesh torn away.

  “I have to help you, Prydon.”

  Prydon’s eyelids fell heavy as he strained to keep them open. “I believe it is too late for that.” He coughed. “You have done well. Your father would be proud—” Another cough choked his words, and more blood spewed from his mouth, “—as am I.” The dragon managed one last smile as the light left his eyes.

  From Prydon’s chest floated an iridescent fog. It swirled about Darius as if embracing him warmly before it shot through the air. Darius knew what that meant—Prydon’s essence was returning to Mount Tyria.

  “No!” shouted Darius. He screamed at the top of his lungs, crying violently.

  Throwing his arms around his friend, he leaned his face against Prydon’s, willing that his life’s energy would somehow enter the dragon and bring him back to life—he would gladly give his life for his friend. Sobbing, he did not hear Alara and Loklan as they kneeled behind him.

  “Darius?” Loklan said quietly, resting his hand on Darius’s shoulder.

  Alara leaned closer and rested her head against Darius’s back, and he felt her arms gently embrace him as she cried softly and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Out of nowhere, a raging wind began to howl, and the sky darkened even more as an enormous shadow fell upon them. Darius couldn’t help but turn and look up, and for a moment, he froze.

  He leapt to his feet, grabbing his sword in hand and holding it out as the dragon, nearly twice Prydon’s size, landed right in front of him.

  But as the dragon approached, her eyes glowed as fire, and black waves rippled through her green scales. Darius felt powerless. The stone in his sword began to shake so violently that the sword was ripped from his hands and fell to the ground.

  He looked over to see Loklan immediately drop to his knee and bow. Alara seemed confused, however, and clung to Darius’s arm.

  “Segrath,” said Loklan. “I…”

  “Loklan,” she said. “You and this young woman must leave.”

  Segrath raised a clawed hand, and before Darius’s friends could respond, they vanished. Darius, alone, faced a creature that was larger than anything he had ever seen.

  Segrath walked up to Prydon. “It was not your time,” she said, then turning to Darius, “You killed Fraenir, shattered the dragon’s stone embedded in his chest?”

  “Y…yes,” said Darius.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  “No,” said Darius.

  “I am Segrath,” she said. “I am the one you should have faced before you were given your sword and staff.”

  Darius knew the story; Prydon had told him.

  Segrath looked at the shattered stone still lying on the ground. “That stone was not his to have,” she continued as if no further discussion was needed regarding Darius’s weapons. “As such, Prydon was killed not by Fraenir but by the strength derived from the essence that is a dragon.”

  Her words made no sense to Darius. “I guess so,” he said dumbly.

  “That defies the laws that create the stones.”

  Darius was even more confused, and Segrath tilted her head and stared into his eyes as if considering him. It made him feel very uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight.

  “Prydon’s death is not to be,” she said, “and as you are the one who destroyed the dragon’s stone that caused his death…”

  Before Darius knew what was happening, Segrath grabbed him easily with one hand and held him over the broken fragments of the dragon’s stone that remained next to Fraenir’s ashes. With her other hand, she pushed Prydon’s lifeless body farther onto its side.

  Darius flinched as he heard the bones crack and saw the gaping wounds, still fresh from battle, and the deep scar directly over Prydon’s heart. Segrath placed her hand on the scar.

  The broken stone beneath him began to rise and circle around him, shimmering to life and spiraling faster and faster. Suddenly, the shards exploded and rained down on him.

  The pain was like nothing he had ever endured, and he screamed in agony. White light from the shards snaked along the surface of his body until he thought his skin might begin to melt.

  He almost passed out from the pain when he heard Segrath screech. But as her shrieks became louder and more intense, the agony Darius felt began to diminish.

  When the pain became more bearable, Darius could see that the streaks of light were leaving his body and entering Segrath’s.

  He watched as the light grew, and the black streaks that had previously adorned her scales now shown a brilliant white, so bright Darius had to shield his eyes.

  Segrath’s bellows continued, and the ripples of light on her body seemed to explode from her hand directly into Prydon’s heart.

  She fell to the ground, dropping Darius next to Fraenir’s ashes. He sat for a moment, wondering wh
at had just happened.

  “Go to him,” Segrath said, and she pulled herself up to tower above him. “Go to Prydon and place your hand on his heart.”

  Darius was confused, but he did as she said. He stood next to his friend, and touched Prydon’s heart. In moments, an iridescent cloud circled both of them before disappearing directly into Prydon’s chest. That instant, Prydon inhaled as if he’d only been holding his breath.

  “Prydon?” cried Darius.

  He jumped back and watched as the wounds caused by the battle began to heal. The bones seemed to set themselves, and the scales multiplied to cover the gaping holes. Prydon’s breathing became more regular, and he opened his eyes. For a moment, he just lay there, taking in long breaths.

  Then he sat up quite suddenly and looked up at Segrath. “Why?” was all Prydon said.

  “When you came to retrieve the sword and staff for this young man, Fraenir was also there. He stole one of the stones while we were distracted,” she said. “Had it not been for this young man destroying that stone, I would not have been able to affect your return.”

  “Thank you, Darius,” said Prydon.

  “You have earned those tools,” she said to Darius, pushing up from the ground and flying away.

  Darius began to cry and hugged Prydon.

  “Darius, the curse is gone,” said Prydon.

  For the first time, Darius looked at his wrist. The crimson tendrils were gone, along with Klavon and Fraenir. He hesitated before resting his eyes on the stones that adorned his staff and sword. Clear as could possibly be, the hint of red was gone.

  “You have one final task,” said Prydon.

  “The book!” Darius had almost forgotten.

  “Go. In the tower…” said Prydon.

  Darius headed straight for the high chamber, Klavon’s sanctuary and the most likely place he would keep the book. When he ran through the door, Prydon was hovering just outside the window.

  Darius’s his eyes darted about the room. “I don’t see it!”

  “There,” said Prydon.

  Hanging from a rod against one wall was a black tapestry covered with symbols embroidered in crimson thread. He yanked it to the side to reveal an arched hallway, no more than five feet long that led to a secret room. A surge of fear flushed across his face—not the kind of fear one experiences when in the presence of an enemy. This was the fear of being too late.

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before entering the room. As he opened the small door and stepped inside, his worst nightmare unfolded before his eyes. With each shred of paper strewn about the room, he could see the people of Brandor, as ghosts, vanishing from the village like wisps of smoke flung in an open breeze. The book had been reduced to an empty cover, its pages shattered as the lives they once held. He fell to his knees, his face falling into his cupped hands.

  Darius became dulled, unaware of time as if time itself were merely an illusion. He heard Prydon call from outside and walked back to the window.

  “It’s shredded…gone,” he said. “I’ve failed.”

  Prydon’s eyes softened. “Perhaps there is still a way. Retrieve it, every piece of it, and we’ll take it back to Brandor. Perhaps the wizard there can help.”

  Darius, the weight of finality pushing upon him, gathered every last scrap of the book and wrapped it in a soft cloth. Then he gently placed it in a leather bag. Gloom followed him as he returned downstairs.

  “Let us be gone. All is not lost,” said Prydon, leaning down so Darius could climb on.

  The voice of his friend showed encouragement, but hope could not have been farther away, and Darius’s heart sank. Brandor was gone, now only shredded paper in a dusty, old bag.

  Chapter Thirty-five

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