The Bitter War of Always: Immortality Shattered: Book 2

by Christian Warren Freed

  “I doubt that,” Camden laughed. “But if you can get us safely past this dragon, I shall change my opinion. Slightly.”

  Isic said nothing else. He had won his first victory.

  They halted at sundown to shelter in a minor draw. The guard roster was made, for the threat of the Eldrath was still strong. Several of the dwarves believed Isic to be working for the dragon, luring them to an easy death. Oddities abounded in these grim mountains. For security purposes, they made the gnome sleep in the far corner of the draw where an axe might easily reach him.

  The dwarves made a stew using water from a natural spring running off the mountain and vegetables they had brought with them. The warm food helped ease tensions. Sylin and a few others sat away from everyone else, making plans for dealing with the dragon and avoiding contact with the goblins once they cleared the pass.

  “We should reach the start of the pass by tomorrow afternoon. Do we keep going or wait?” Sylin asked. Since leaving Jerincon, no one had been held responsible for making the main decisions. It was a group effort.

  Garin picked a string of chewed food from his teeth. “Many centuries ago, my people sought out dragons to kill. We suffered greatly and soon saw the folly in doing so, but the lessons learned have been passed down. Dragons have an acute sense of smell. I wouldn’t be surprised if the reek of our little friend will give us away.”

  Maric snorted. “Not that we smell any better.”

  His brother nodded agreement and continued. “If Tragalon decides we are an easy meal, he will make short work of us.”

  Camden wiped his face. He couldn’t accept what he heard. All he had accomplished in his short life was about to become undone. “Is everyone here insane? Or maybe you don’t realize we are about to be a fried meal for a lizard?”

  “Easy now,” Garin said. “Nobody is going to die, if we have any say on it. Fact is, I don’t plan on seeing the wyrm.”

  “How can we escape, if it could already know we are here?” He was confused, and rightly so. “Why isn’t your little friend over here to help us plan?”

  “For one, he might be leading us to our doom,” Garin theorized. “I don’t give trust easily, especially to his vile breed. Second, we don’t know whose side this dragon is on.”

  Even Sylin gave a start. “Whose side it is on? I didn’t know dragons took sides.”

  “Most don’t. You see, dragons have a highly developed sense of understanding. Once they choose a course in life, they seldom change. It just might be that this one is on the side of good.”

  Sylin doubted there were any people in the Free Lands who knew that much about dragons. Not even the great libraries in Meisthelm had so much information.

  “Enough of the dragon. What do we do next?” he asked.

  “Drive on and sneak around,” Garin said plainly.

  “Does any of it matter? We can’t run faster than a dragon flies,” Camden pointed out.

  No one argued.

  “When morning comes, we strike out and find the gnome’s tunnel as quick as possible. Hopefully, we catch the dragon asleep and ride out from under his nose,” Garin said with finality.

  “If it is awake?” Talrn asked.

  “We try to kill it.”

  Breakfast was eaten and the camp broken down before the sun rose above the highest peaks. Compared to the misery of the last few days, this morning held promise. The company was underway not long after the last pony was saddled. The air about them was considerably different. The litany of perils and dangers they had already faced were reduced to minor incidents. Nothing was as dangerous as what they were about to attempt. Despite the odds, they remained in good spirits. All save Isic the gnome.

  “I can smell the beast already,” Camden grimaced, at the raw stench choking the trail.

  Isic laughed. “This? This is nothing. The mouth of the pass is littered with sun bleached bones and reeks of brimstone and death. Almost enough to void your bowels. Tragalon’s lair is yet far from here. Hours, I judge.”

  “We are prepared enough,” Sylin said, his mind retracing the precautions taken while breaking camp.

  “None of it matters,” Isic said. “If the dragon can smell us, we are already doomed. Do you truly think to fool a four hundred year old dragon? Or perhaps it was an accident he managed to live this long?”

  Garin leaned close to the gnome. “You just worry about getting us through this tunnel. Know this, if that dragon is waiting for us, you will be the first to die.”

  Isic tried to repress a gulp and hide his fear.

  The sun dropped faster than anticipated. Shadows were quick to swarm over the light-depleted trail, making the mountaintops appear as jagged teeth. Haunting images worked in the quasi-darkness. Deceit seemed an endearing trait of the Grimstones. They halted shortly after, understanding time was against them.

  The northern entrance to the pass was much warmer than the rest of the range, for dragons required heat to survive. Sulphur choked the air, making it difficult to breathe, even with the damp clothes each placed over nose and mouth. Fires reflected off the cliff faces sporadically. Bones lay strewn about, past meals of the beast. Sylin’s horse snorted in fear. The ensuring pat did little to ease either horse or rider.

  Then the group heard it.

  The deep, resonating rumble of the dragon’s breathing. It vibrated the ground. They looked to each other for support, hoping to find strength in each other. Sylin alone felt relief.

  “I don’t find any reason to be happy,” Camden whispered.

  Sylin almost laughed, “No? The dragon sleeps.”

  The timid gnome led them across the mouth of the pass where the great dragon slept. Fear of death from dragon or dwarf kept him to his word. Killing one dwarf was not going to expand his life or increase his popularity. He still wasn’t sure who he was working for. Anyway he looked at it, he was a dead man.

  It took nearly an hour to move everyone across. The slightest stir of the dragon caused much delay. Sylin was the last to leave, subconsciously taking responsibility for the band. A sudden stirring when he was halfway across the pass mouth made him abandon caution. The rumbling was much stronger now, eventually transforming into a throaty laugh, nearly knocking him to the ground.

  The dwarves in the tunnel turned in horror. They urged Sylin to hurry before it was too late. Sylin was frozen. He considered attempting his magic but it would take too long to bring up. There was no doubt in his mind that the dragon was awake. Awake and watching him.

  “Well, has another manling come to steal my hide and rob my life? Or do I have another meal to satisfy my hunger?”

  The dragon’s voice dripped venom. Sylin closed his eyes and prayed.

  TWENTY-TWO

  A New Threat

  The glittering spires of Meisthelm, proud capital of a beleaguered realm, lay enshrouded in darkness. Cold, cruel winter had come early this year, blasting mounds of snow and freezing winds across the lands. Wagon trains filled with refugees from the north streamed through the main city. They sought to leave the wars and find shelter in the south. It was a foolish dream, for all the lands were threatened.

  Matters were worse within the city proper. Rumors of a massive darkling army striking east from Suroc Tol across the plains of Galdea had reached the population. Panic threatened to set in, despite the Hierarchy’s best attempts at retaining calmness. Logic on the street said it wouldn’t be long before that army was at their very walls, and with the Hierarchy army engaged in the south, the city was defenseless.

  The High Council, what was left of them, was stuck in the middle. They’d been torn apart when the Black defected and Shali Kolm was murdered. Sylin Marth’s inexplicable resignation further plunged them into chaos. War was fast approaching and High Councilor Zye Terrio felt powerless.

  Alone atop the very highest tower, a woman shuddered from the cold and drew her cloak tighter. The worst of winter was yet to come but she was from a warm kingdom and still unused to the bitter cold. Thre
e decades in Meisthelm and she still wasn’t acclimatized. She looked up at the moon again and felt relief. It was almost time.

  She left the grand view of the Wizard’s Tower and made her way down below. The hustle of daily life was over but the night offered a great many promises. She was near giddy with excitement as her mind wandered to the news she was about to receive. Temperatures rose the deeper into the keep she traveled. Great furnaces kept the main buildings warm, as well as heating the water for all within the walls. Life was much better here than anywhere in the Free Lands, except for perhaps the cities of the elves.

  “My lady,” her bodyguard said, as she slid by. Without awaiting her reply, he fell in behind her.

  She loved him for his undying loyalty. He was one of the few people in all the realm she honestly trusted. An admirable quality in these troubling times.

  Her journey took her down dark passages seldom trod, for she was eager to keep her business private. She had once been a simple country girl who could stand the thought of others knowing her business. In part, that led to her leaving home to join the Hierarchy. People always found a way to learn precisely what she didn’t want them to know. It was the worst of civilization, especially here in Meisthelm.

  She reached the forgotten meeting chamber three levels underground. Few bothered to venture down this far anymore, not since the Wars of Separation. She enjoyed the espionage of it all. The ignorance of the present Council often made things entirely too easy to slip through their fingers. Just like now. She placed her hand on the handle and pushed.

  The room was dark except for a miniscule flicker of torchlight she carried with her. It was also empty, or so she believed. She sat on one of the ancient chairs, after her bodyguard dusted it off, and waited for her caller. The guard was told to wait in the hall and be alert in the event she might need assistance. She didn’t foresee any issues arising he might be able to handle though.

  “You are late,” a deep voice growled.

  She started, her heart instantly racing. The circular chamber made it impossible for her to pinpoint where his voice came from and this left her worried. She reasoned that her life wasn’t in immediate danger. For if he wanted her dead, he would have already struck. She searched the shadows but found nothing.

  “You won’t find me like that,” he said, almost disappointed.

  She faked a smile. “You might be surprised at what I can do.”

  She took the torch and rose. Not even a man of his incredible talent could hide forever. A light wind shifted through the chamber to kiss her lips. The simple caress almost aroused her. She frowned. This was not how it was supposed to play out. Evil, however, had other ideas. The raw power affected her in strange ways, making her do things a normal woman might otherwise not.

  The power left her feeling alive as it enveloped her flesh in a lover’s embrace. She kept a string of pets for these special occasions. Men and women no one would miss. Where was he? The longer she stayed within his grasp, the more urgent her desires became. She needed to conduct her business and return to her private chambers.

  A strong hand reached out to grab her throat from behind. She choked.

  “You are getting careless, Arlyn,” he growled, displeased with her performance.

  His grip loosened, allowing her to turn and face him at last.

  “You fail to disappoint,” she replied.

  The Black Imelin released her and took a seat opposite of her. His ice colored eyes searched for signs of trickery or deception in her but there was none. Satisfied, he began.

  “How are matters with the Council progressing?”

  She laughed. “Zye Terrio remains locked in his pompous attitudes. He refuses to believe that Meisthelm is in grave danger. A few of the others support him but the real power is shifting toward Cagic Hlorn. He poses the actual threat to us. He’s being pushed to making a bid for High Councilor. If that happens, this city will be mobilized and ready for war in short order.”

  The Black was not pleased, but expected such news. “The army, where is Conn?’

  “Near the Port of Grespon last I heard, though I haven’t received any new information lately. I can only assume he’s waiting for our allies to make a move,” Arlyn said.

  Imelin frowned. “The Baron has my orders not to engage unless provoked, correct? I need him to follow Conn’s army back to Valadon. Getting engaged now does not serve my plans.”

  “Baron Mron is a competent enough man, if nothing else,” she soothed. “I trust him enough not to get killed before our armies are in place.”

  Our armies? She takes liberties. He reached out to grab her by the chin. “Very good. You serve the cause well, Arlyn Gert. Continue to do so and you shall be rewarded when the time is right.”

  A tremor ran through her body. “I live to serve.”

  “When next we meet, I shall be before the city gates with my host. You know what you must do in the meantime. I expect all to be ready for my arrival,” he released her and rose.

  She bowed her head. “It shall be as you wish.”

  When she lifted her head he was gone, lost to shadows. A wicked grin crossed her face. The fall of the Hierarchy was coming and she was to be a main instrument in that demise. Arlyn called for her bodyguard. He closed the door behind him after entering and watched as she shrugged off her cloak and then dress. No emotion showed as he crossed the room and took her.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Tragalon

  Sylin stood mesmerized by the great dragon Tragalon. The dwarves remained hidden in the tunnel, while they strategized the best way to kill it. Isic, for all his duplicity, cowered behind them. It was Camden who bade them all stay in place, honoring Sylin’s wishes for the time being.

  Tragalon crawled down the rock face to stand before Sylin. Human eyes stared upon his magnificence for the first time in a hundred years. His scales were deceptive shades of grey-green, shifting as the wind changed the shape of his fires. Sylin was impressed and horrified simultaneously. Two horns resembling ears stretched back to reach the spikes fins on his back. His eyes were as jewels, always alert and cunning. Claws the size of a grown man clicked on the mountain pass floor.

  “Better men than you have come claiming my scales, manling. What makes you think you can achieve what so many have already failed?” Tragalon demanded.

  Sylin cleared his throat. “I have not come to kill you.”

  The dragon laughed at him. “Clever man, but you will have to do better. No one enters this pass unless they are in need. You mortals are so keen to kill each other, it makes perfect sense why one would wish to make a trophy of my kind. My hatchlings have not left the Mountains of the Fang in generations because of this.

  “Look around you, manling. Those are the bones of your predecessors. All filth who sought to best me. Even those foul smelling gnomes tried my might, though they ended a little more than a snack.” Tragalon sniffed the winds. “I see you brought the little worm back for me. Very kind. Bring him out and I might consider letting you go.”

  Isic cringed under the thoughtful glares of the Stonebreaker brothers. There was no mistaking which way they were inclined.

  “I cannot do that,” Sylin replied.

  The dragon was unimpressed. “You gamble the lives of your group on the miserable existence of one gnome? I think you a fool.”

  “All life is precious.”

  “Is it?”

  Sylin struggled to retain composure. “Yes, it is. Neither you nor I created this world and neither of us have the right to decide who should live or die.”

  “You have courage, manling, if misguided. What do they call you?”

  At last. “I am Sylin Marth, emissary of the High Council of the Hierarchy and representative of the kingdom of Coronan.”

  The dragon cocked his head in thought. “Places and people mean little to me. I know the world from views you have never imagined. This Hierarchy you speak of, I know the city well. Though it is a grand sight to behold, I am afra
id I will remain long after its towers crumble.”

  “Then you know of the dark times sweeping over the lands? No one will be safe if it is successful. I’d have thought one of your stature would show compassion for the plight of the world,” Sylin urged.

  “Compassion?” Tragalon fumed. “You dare ask me for compassion, when all of the mortal races have come for my hide? You overestimate yourself.” He reared back on his hind legs and flexed those long claws. “I tire of speaking. Now, you die.”

  “Wait!”

  Camden and the dwarves couldn’t hold back and burst into the pass in an ordered, straight line. Only Isic was too frightened to act. None of them held weapons, for the dragon’s fire would have melted them in an instant.

  Tragalon eyed, recalling an old hate of dwarves. That they stood side by side with men was something new for him. “Impressive. Perhaps there are redeeming qualities among the mortal races. Tell me, Sylin Marth of the Hierarchy, why do you seek passage through my domain?”

  “War is coming. There are a few of us chosen to stop it. We are limited and with few resources. If we fail, the world ends. Darkness is coming. My band and I seek the white wizard, Elxander. Only he has the power to stave off what approaches.”

  Tragalon dropped back to all fours and sat. His eyes took in the mixed group confronting him, amusedly noticing the lack of courage the gnome displayed. “What matters any of this to me?”

  Camden spoke. “Dragon! Your life hangs in the balance as well. Do you honestly think this plague will pass you by? The Black has designs for all life. Yours included.”

  “That name, say it again.”

  “The Black?”

  Black fumes spewed from his nostrils. “I know that name. He has murdered one of my kind and is a sworn enemy. How is it you let this finger of evil go so far as to threaten the world? I have seen lands suffer but nothing is as evil as what he rebuilds in the dark heart of the southern kingdom. A great castle is being constructed by an army of slaves.”