Erik just shrugged. He didn’t like playing these games.
“Blood,” Specter said, smiling deeply and revealing his perfectly white teeth. “The younger and more innocent, the better. I will drain every single person here; I will take that sword, and I will simply go away and hide for fifty or a hundred years; however long it takes that idiot Syzbalo to die.”
“You’re a monster,” someone from the crowd said.
Specter just shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said, smiling, “but I am a very powerful, eternal monster.”
Erik heard the hiss of elvish magic and saw the purple glow of Bryon’s sword. He saw Turk and Nafer and Bofim, others standing and grabbing whatever tools they could get their hands on that might be used as weapons. Even Andu drew his sword. Specter just laughed.
Erik put a hand up.
“Just you and me, Specter,” Erik said. “You kill me, you’ll have to contend with them. I win, well, you’ll be dead.”
Specter laughed harder.
“Erik, no,” Simone said.
“Sure,” the assassin said. “This will be fun. Your woman will watch you die, and then I will drain both her and your unborn baby.”
Erik gripped Dragon Tooth with both hands, looked at his wife, nodded and smiled, and backed up, walking out of the barn.
“You wish to fight in the darkness of night,” Specter said with a wide smile, although there were fires blazing outside, “and in my world. Perfect. You truly are prideful, aren’t you?”
Erik wished he had his shield at that moment or his armor, but all he had was his sword, and that would have to be enough. He crouched into his fighting stance as did Specter, holding the bone spear behind his head, pointing at Erik. Erik made the first move.
He came at Specter, low and methodical, as Specter swung his spear like a stick, the assassin bringing it behind his head and then swinging it forward. Erik ducked out of the way and heard the wind whistle through the holes in the vertebrae that made up the weapon. Specter gripped the spear with both hands and jabbed at Erik. He easily dodged the attack, but then the Isutan was smoke, floating through the air. Erik watched as the smoke floated overhead, pretended to float behind them, and then back in front of Erik. He was ready for the attack, almost, and as the bone blade of the spear sliced a neat tear in Erik’s shirt, a boot kicked out hard and caught Erik in the chest, sending him backward into the dirt.
Erik came up in his crouch, ready for another attack.
“You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Specter said.
“You talk too much,” Erik replied.
Specter jabbed, punched, kicked, tried to bite, jabbed again, and then swung his spear out at Erik, pushing Erik back on his heels the whole time.
“Admit it,” Specter said as he pressed close to Erik, the shaft of his spear pushing against Erik’s chest and a hand gripping Erik’s wrist, keeping his sword at bay, “you are no match for me.”
Erik brought a knee up into the assassin’s crotch hard. Specter gasped and backed away, clutching his stomach.
“Cheap,” Specter hissed.
“Like your magic,” Erik replied.
With that, the Isutan became mist again, but instead of watching the mist float about, Erik remembered his training with the old soldier Wrothgard. He closed his eyes and felt the winds around him move, sensing his opponent. He felt the mist feign left, then right, and then coalesce behind him. He turned hard and stabbed. His blade flared green as it caught Specter’s ribs, tearing leather. The assassin screamed, and, when Erik retrieved his blade, blood flowed down the man’s side and onto his black, leather boots.
“You’ll pay for that,” Specter said.
Specter pushed out with an open hand, and Erik felt the air punch him in the chest. The Isutan then snapped a finger and a flame danced in his palm. He threw it at Erik, and, even though he dodged the ball of fire, it skidded along the ground and into the barn, igniting the old, dry timber. The assassin pointed the blade of the Bone Spear at Erik and, speaking a language Erik didn’t understand, a green mist seeped from the blade. Erik began coughing as he caught a whiff of the cloud, a choking, pungent stink that stung his eyes.
Erik saw his father running towards him, the bag of fairy dust in his hand. Specter saw him too, and Erik noticed a smile forming on the assassin’s face. He rushed through the choking mist, ignoring the stinging and nauseating effect it gave and, before the Isutan noticed Erik, lowered a shoulder. Specter was too nimble and making himself half-ethereal, floated out of the way, bringing the shaft of his spear across Erik’s face.
Erik rolled to the ground. He could hear Simone screaming and crying. He saw the people of the farmstead and his friends close in. He saw the smile growing on Specter’s face. This was what he wanted. He wanted them all to converge on him. They would be easier prey, huddled together in a mass of flesh and blood.
Specter held his spear in his right hand and drew his bone-blade dagger. He came at Erik hard, jabbing and stabbing, slashing and swinging. He turned to mist and then materialized, doing the same over and over as he continued to kick and punch, many of his strikes finding a home. He threw another fireball at Erik, produced another cloud of choking smoke, and tried to will the ground to sprout vines that might cling to Erik’s legs. Erik felt spent, and Specter looked just fine. He looked over his shoulder and saw his father.
While Specter was doing his disappearing act yet again, Erik reached out as his father tossed him the bag. He thrust his hand into it and retrieved a handful of dust he blew towards Specter. The fire extinguished, and the choking cloud dissipated. When a speck of the dust touched the Isutan’s ethereal form, he became whole and he screamed, a hand to his cheek. When he removed his hand, his flesh was burnt.
“Enough!” Specter yelled, finally losing his composure. “Time to die!”
He rushed Erik, jabbing high with his spear and stabbing low with the dagger. Erik brought his sword up and blocked the spear and with a speed that surprised the assassin, brought it down hard on the hand that held the short blade. He caught the Isutan’s hand with the broad side of Dragon Tooth, so it didn’t remove the hand, but it knocked the dagger away and burned flesh at the same time.
Erik kicked out, sending Specter on his back as the fairy dust floated about him, each speck burning him as it touched his skin. He leaped to his feet and stabbed again. Erik gripped Dragon Tooth with both hands hard and swung downwards, swatting the spear away over and over, each strike causing the Bone Spear to bend and driving the assassin lower and lower to his knees until, with the last strike and a mighty scream from Erik, Dragon Tooth shattered the shaft of Bone Spear.
Specter looked up at Erik, his eyes squinted and filled with rage. He rolled to his right and grabbed his dagger, holding it with a reverse grip. He tried bringing the blade across Erik’s face, and, when he missed, he tried to stab Erik in the side of the neck, but Erik caught the man’s wrist. He was stronger than he looked.
Fairy dust floated all around him, and Specter’s pale eyes went wide. Smoke floated up between Erik and the assassin. They both looked down. Dragon Tooth sat, cross-handle deep in Specter’s belly. The Isutan dropped the dagger.
“How?” he whispered.
“Syzbalo is going to be so disappointed,” Erik said as he twisted Dragon Tooth, reveling in the sound of flesh ripping and tearing.
“Impossible,” Specter said, his voice even weaker.
“And, yet, here we are,” Erik replied, ignoring the welts on his face and the blood trickling from numerous wounds.
Specter’s face began to wrinkle, his skin sagging. His teeth yellowed, and his muscles, normally taut against his leather armor, seemed to diminish. His white hair thinned, and his pale eyes dulled. The cost of black magic.
“How many deaths am I avenging right now?” Erik asked.
He pulled Dragon Tooth from Specter’s belly, and the assassin fell to his knees. The Isutan still looked confused, bewildered.
�
��This is not the dream world,” Erik said, “and you are no longer a powerful, eternal monster. If you are truly a dream walker, then you know what awaits you on the other side. And I will see you there. When I do …”
Erik placed the tip of Dragon Tooth at the base of Specter’s throat and winked before, with an angry grunt, he stabbed. As Specter hit the ground, his body began to shrivel and wrinkle. He became an old man, older than old, ancient, until all that was left was dust.
Simone ran to Erik.
“My love,” she said, reaching up to wipe blood from his cheek.
“I’m alright,” Erik said.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“That was the world around us, my sweet,” Erik said as men and women rushed around to grab buckets for the burning barn, even though it was a futile act.
“I don’t understand,” Simone said.
“This world is an evil, cruel, and relentless place,” Erik said, looking down at his wife’s face, “and that is why I left. I left to keep you safe. But I can’t stop my love. I can’t keep you and our child safe from here. In order to save you both, I have to keep on fighting. You have to be strong; do you understand?”
“No,” Simone said, weeping and burying her face into Erik’s chest. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Cousin,” Bryon said, coming to Erik and hugging him and Simone.
“I’m alright,” Erik said.
“The barn is lost,” Bryon said.
“I know,” Erik replied. “A small price to pay.”
“Who was that?” Bryon asked.
“One of the Lord of the East’s assassins,” Erik replied.
“Will he send more?” Bryon asked.
“I am most certain of it,” Erik replied.
He knew it wouldn’t just be the Lord of the East. Gol-Durathna wanted him dead. Bu wanted him dead, regardless of what truce the man said they had. The dwomanni wanted him dead. And Fréden Fréwin wanted him dead. Probably even the Samanian slavers still wanted him dead. And this new shadow of which Dewin spoke certainly wanted him dead.
62
“Specter is dead, my lord,” Andragos said as he sat on the Lord of the East’s dais, facing Syzbalo. His two witches lounged against him, one on either shoulder.
The Lord of the East slammed a fist against the arm of his chair, and Kimber, the pale-haired witch on that side jerked away as if slapped.
“That fool,” he hissed.
“He had no intention of bringing the Dragon Sword to you,” Andragos added.
“How do you know?” Kimber hissed, seeking to cover up her embarrassment.
“I saw him, in my visions,” Andragos replied.
“So did we,” Krista hissed, the dark-skinned, dark-haired witch. “We saw nothing that indicated betrayal.”
“Maybe your magic is weaker than mine,” Andragos said with a smile.
Both witches hissed at that, and Andragos fought to hide his disdain.
Sychophants.
“Enough,” the Lord of the East said. “Does Eleodum have any intention of bringing the sword here?”
Andragos shook his head.
“No,” the Black Mage replied. “In fact, the sword has been reforged. It is now called Dragon Tooth. The dagger Erik carried was magically united on Sustenon’s altar with Erik’s sword and a shard of tooth from the dragon. It is, essentially, his sword now.”
The Lord of the East stood, his face red. He looked at his witches.
“Send for Black Tigress,” the Lord of the East commanded.
“Specter’s daughter?” Andragos asked as he stood. “Haven’t we learned our lesson?”
The Lord of the East turned hard on Andragos, hands lifted high, sparkling with electricity.
“You forget yourself,” the Lord of the East said.
Andragos clenched his fists.
“You may very well be more powerful than me one day, Syzbalo,” Andragos said, “but that day is not today. I apologize for my tone, but be careful. I have been here for much longer than you, your father, and many of your family, and I intend on being here long after you.”
The Lord of the East dropped his hands and looked at the witches. He smiled.
“You underestimate my powers,” Syzbalo said. “I am growing stronger by the day.”
“Indeed,” Andragos said, looking about the room with sidelong glances.
He could feel the magic in the room, but it was a different magic than what he used, what he touched. It was dark—some might call it black—like his, but very distinctive. He hadnt felt magic like it before, not since…his eyes went wide for a moment, and then they squinted. He groaned inwardly.
More powerful indeed, Andragos thought, but at what cost?
“Is that all?” Andragos asked.
“I have a task for you,” Syzbalo said.
Andragos bowed.
“Destroy the free farms of Northwestern Hathgolthane,” he said. “Kill everyone who lives there.”
“That is far outside our borders, my lord,” Andragos said, cocking one eyebrow. “Every nation in Hathgolthane will see it as an act of war.”
“It is my desire,” Syzbalo said. “My order. Are you disobeying me?”
“I will not instigate war with the west,” Andragos said.
“You serve me,” the Lord of the East said, pointing a finger at the Black Mage, “and I am commanding you to do this.”
“I serve Golgolithul,” Andragos spat back, “and my charge is to do what is in the best interest of my country.”
“Even if it includes disobeying its rightful ruler?” the Lord of the East asked, straightening his back. His witches seemed to watch the exchange with increased interest, almost aroused as their master tried to exert power.
“Yes,” Andragos said. “I have in the past. I will again if need be. How do you think it is that Gol-Durathna and its allies, on the verge of defeat almost three hundred years ago, pushed our forces back, forcing Rimrûk Aztûk to sign the Treaty of the Battle of Bethulium. How do you think it is, that Mörken Stévock, with very little power or influence, was able to overthrow the Aztûkians and return the rule of the east to his family.”
“You speak of treason,” Kimber hissed.
“You speak of treachery,” Krista added, also hissing.
“I speak of loyalty,” Andragos replied. “I speak of true dedication to ones country, no matter the cost.”
The witches became agitated, hissing and clinging to the Lord of the East. Andragos could feel their magic rising as they touched it, ready to attack. He Melanius as well. But the Lord of the East put up a hand and looked down at Andragos lazily.
“You are dismissed, Andragos,” the Lord of the East said. “I no longer need or wish you to follow Erik Eleodum with your visions.”
“As you wish,” Andragos said.
“And you will stay confined to your country cottage,” the Lord of the East added. “How shall I advise you from my home?”
“I know longer desire your advice,” Syzbalo said.
“Very well,” Andragos said with a sweeping bow.
“And I expect repayment for my inquisitors,” Syzbalo added.
“How would you like me to repay you for the lives of your inquisitors?”
“Lives for lives,” the Lord of the East said.
“My men are the best trained in all Hathgolthane, and you would waste them on scum?” Andragos said, his voice hard.
The Lord of the East smiled.
“Of course not,” he replied, and for a moment, Andragos relaxed. “I will take the lives of Raktas and Terradyn.”
“You cannot,” Andragos said.
“Can’t I?” the Lord of the East said stepping up to Andragos so that they were face to face. “I can do whatever I want. I am the most powerful man in Hathgolthane, and soon I will be the most powerful man in the world. Terradyn and Raktas, or I start killing all the young boys in your magic academies, the young boys training to be Soldiers of the Eye
, and I will seriously search out Ja Sin’s family, that you think you so secretively hid from me. I will make you watch as I flay each and every one of them … even the littlest ones that would have made Specter especially happy.”
“And you think this bothers me?” Andragos asked.
“I know it does,” Syzbalo hissed, leaning in closer. “You have become complacent and soft. Let me know when the Black Mage gathers his senses and returns. Let me know when the man who would have destroyed Ja Sin’s whole family and executed every single Soldier of the Eye for allowing a traitor in their midst returns. I covet that man’s councel.”
Andragos turned and left. He shielded his mind as best he could, but at that moment, he had no control over his emotions. It had been centuries since he had been this angry. As he walked out through the open-air collonade that led into the black keep, the Lord of the East’s guards accompanied the Black Mage.
“Get away from me,” the Messenger hissed.
“Our orders,” one said.
“We are to escort you,” another said.
Andragos stopped. He clenched his fist and screamed, flexing the muscles in his arms. The two columns on either side of him cracked, sending dust and rubble down on the heads of the guards. He looked to one of the soldiers. The man looked scared. Good. The Messenger lifted a hand. The soldier levitated and, when Andragos closed his hand into a fist, the soldier’s eyes went wide, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. The Black Mage released him, and he crumpled to the ground.
Andragos blinked. As the other guard tried to stab him with his spear, the Mage disappeared and reappeared behind the soldier and touched the back of his neck. His skin turned black, green smoke spilling from his eyes and ears until he shriveled up into nothing.
Andragos turned to face the now closed doors of the keep.
“Do not test me!”
He knew the Lord of the East heard him, even though the doors were closed.
“You do not want that man to return as your enemy!” the Black Mage added.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 42
