by Robert Day
Winged shapes appeared suddenly on the horizon, alerting the watcher, who seemed to catch everything of importance that occurred. The forms were those of Dragons, the distance eaten away by huge sweeps of their wings, and atop them, the watcher could see riders.
The Dragons dived down like birds of prey as winged Demons leapt skyward to meet them. Demons cast bolts of fire whose very presence was one of death and decay, while the Dragons returned with flaming breath, and when close enough, with razor claws and armed riders. One of these was Silmarel, the beautiful warrioress, armed with a blazing lance that shot bolts of pure light at the demons from afar, and skewered them like fish when close.
A loud buzzing swept through the mass of Demons and Ashar'an, one the watcher could only feel was fear, yet in their midst, another dark shape rose. This the watcher saw as a huge winged demon, yet it was far taller than the other by far, equal in height to the largest Dragon, and atop it sat a figure, also in black.
Vighor!
The demon rose inexorably, gaining speed, then was amongst the Dragon host. Vighor unleashed dark bolts and flaming jets with each turn, while the Demon employed a whip of dark force that sliced through whatever it touched.
The Demons below seemed to gain in strength from this appearance, attacking again with a fervor, but there came from above a great roar as a Dragon, that which carried Silmarel, issued a challenge to the Demon, who answered it with a deafening roar of his own.
The watcher was awed by the display as Dragon met Demon, fire and darkness meeting and dissipating like puffs of cloud. Then their riders were able to meet, and in a time stopping pass where everything went deafeningly silent, dark sword and blazing lance crossed.
The Dark Rider was the first to fall, seeming to slide away from the blazing lance, away from the Demon that struggled against the Dragon's claws beneath it. His sword fell from his hands, and both disappeared into the swarming armies.
Yet the cheer that ran through the Kay'taari was short lived as the golden armored figure of Silmarel toppled from the battling Dragon, lifeless, the lance she had clutched remaining secured to the saddle the Dragon wore. She did not strike the ground however, as a form sped upwards to meet her, and Astan-Valar caught her lightly, tears falling behind his speeding body like floating diamonds.
For a moment, all eyes were turned upwards to view the spectacle: Demon, Kay'taari, Ashar'an and Dragon. Plus the invisible watcher, who knew he would be shedding as many tears as Astan-Valar were he capable of doing so. The young warrior hung motionless as Demon and Dragon continued to wheel above and around, all seeming to turn away from the golden armored warrior who held his dead mother in his arms. His eyes were closed, and for a time it seemed he had forgotten about the battle and the danger, though no Demon or Ashar'an approached him.
Then his eyes snapped open, revealing a blazing anger within their dark ocean depths. He spoke momentarily and the figure of Silmarel was gone, her destination unknown to the watcher or any other save Astan-Valar. Then his sword was out, so fast it looked as if he had never sheathed it, and then he was shooting towards the Dragon his mother had rode. He landed on its shoulders where the saddle and lance were, and he took hold of the shining lance as the Dragon roared once again and attacked.
For the watcher, there was no fury or vengeance greater than Astan-Valar showed as he fought atop the Dragon. When he was not jousting or firing bolts of pure silvery light from the lance, he was hacking away with his sword, which seemed to strike any and all, no matter how far away they seemed to be. Magical energies sizzled around he and the Dragon, from his hands and from those aimed at him, but none seemed to have any effect on him.
Then it is over, so suddenly the watcher wonders if there was another shift, this one imperceptible, but he knew he had been caught up in the atmosphere and fervor of the battle where time held little meaning. He found Astan-Valar then, now standing, surrounded by bloodied corpses, his sword somehow free of blood, though the rest of him was not. Those Dragons who were left were landing; amid rent bodies and scorched earth run with blood.
“In the name of the Kay'taari, I declare a bloodhunt for the Ashar'an,” cried Astan-Valar, his voice hoarse and choking but carrying to all on the battlefield and beyond. Many bodies writhed in pain, some ceasing their struggles even as the Kay'taari spread out amongst them, using healing magic on their own kind and dealing out merciful if not swift death for those Ashar'an they found still moving, while the Demons were mercilessly hacked apart. Whether any of the dark Demons had escaped was unknown to the watcher.
“The Ashar'an have nowhere to go other than the voids into which they belong,” voiced Astan-Valar again over the subdued silence, broken only by the cries of the dying or wounded and the soft voices of those giving solace to those who were drawing their last breath. Astan-Valar seemed unaware of these other struggles, though the watcher knew he was more than aware and inwardly counting the lives the Ashar'an had cost his people.
“Hirowa Lagar!” Astan-Valar turned to the nearby form of the huge golden dragon he had ridden throughout the battle, the same one from which his mother had fallen. He gave the beast a respectful bow and sheathed his sword. “You and your kind have performed a great service for us and this world, if not the universe. There is one thing more I would ask your assistance, however.”
As if expecting the question, the Dragon lowered his head to speak with Astan-Valar. “This is indeed not the end of the Demons. Those Portals the Ashar'an have created cannot be destroyed, as you well know. What would you have of us?”
Astan-Valar dug briefly beneath his cuirass and withdrew a slender golden chain, upon which dangled a diamond of considerable size, its many faceted surface gleaming in the afternoon sun. It was shaped like a raindrop. He clutched the gem in his hand momentarily before looking back up at the Dragon.
“We of the Kay'taari have never bowed to destiny, but times are changing and a new order arrives, while us of the old code are decaying.” He spread his hands to take in the mass of bodies scattered about them and there were again tears running down his cheeks. “This War of Ascension has been the culmination of many eons of struggle between us, a final test that we have both won and lost. The Ashar'an are gone and the Demons are driven back to their voids. We have accomplished that which we had to, and now we must ensure this threat does not resurface. Seals we must create to keep these spawns of Evil from this great land, else the fate of Kara’Tar will be that of Kil’Tar, and no greater tragedy could there be for both twins to be destroyed through our failings.”
There was murmuring through the surrounding Kay'taari, of assent and disagreement. Some suggested they leave Kil'Tar, to which Astan-Valar surprisingly agreed.
“Kil'Tar must need be our home for a short time, but once the seals have been created, we must seek out our position in the new order. Those of the Dragon will remain, as is their destiny, making reparation where we cannot except in our hearts and minds.”
There was more murmuring, but after a time, none made objection and the Dragon, Hirowa Lagar, agreed. “There must be balance, Kay'taari, and although your kind have brought about this devastation and blight upon our world, your honor and actions have ever named you true. From hence, know that we of the skies name you Dragon People”
Astan-Valar's bow drew in not just Hirowa Lagar, but all of Dragonkind, before he straightened and wordlessly began to walk away, his figure becoming intangible as he strode towards the setting sun. His destination was unknown to the Watcher, and in short time he was gone, leaving Dragon and Kay'taari to the tasks at hand. Many looked to where Astan-Valar had disappeared, and there was hope floating there in the sea of sadness.
Chapter 14
Crystalline splashing at the edge of his consciousness was like an alarm as he rose from the clutches of unconsciousness. Opening his eyes, he found that pale light surrounded him, like an early morning sunrise.
The first thing he saw was not the pale ambience, or the gleaming gold of t
he Dragon fountain and its silvery water, nor was it the shimmering moisture that seemed to catch every leaf in the trees around him, each like emeralds, though he mused such a tree would be worth a great deal.
The face that gazed down upon his was distantly familiar, though with a start and a moment of disorientation he knew the woman had to be the one he had met earlier in the darkness. Her face was wide yet sharp, with high, pronounced cheekbones accentuating a full mouth and narrow chin. Wide- set eyes of deepest green caught him in their depth, and some unfelt breeze tousled her hair, which hung like dark strands of silk.
“Kaylara?” His whispered question brought a confused frown from the woman, and he knew it was not Kaylara, whose eyes had been of blue not cyan, and her fuller lips had been paler.
“Who are you?”
He was lying on his back with his head resting on her thigh as she sat with her back against the fountain. His sword lay against the fountain, and he was still dressed only in a pair of bloodstained trousers, still wet as if he had passed out only momentarily. The visions he had seen, however, were burned into his awareness, and he knew they had not merely been dreams. Every event that had occurred had taken place in his presence, as if he were merely an invisible participant. He could still hear the distant ringing of metal and the cries of the hurt, and images flashed through his mind as he tried to bring the visions into context with what he had already been told.
“Talisa.” The way she spoke, he guessed she was as much bemused by what had happened as he. “You took some risk there. How did you know you had to drink from the chalice and not the pool?”
“I did not,” acceded Valdieron slowly. “Is there a difference? It all looks the same, does it not?”
“Of course there is a difference, though not visible. The chalice offers protection against the liquid, which is pure essence. As it is, lucky you are Kay'taari, else you would not have survived it.” The way she looked at him made him realize she had not thought he was Kay'taari.
“I have Elvin blood,” he muttered defensively, wondering why he felt he had to explain this to her. He did not know how any other could have gotten to where he was if he wasn't of Kay'taari blood, as she obviously was.
“That would explain it," she mused with a wry smile, almost apologetic. “I had thought my father and I were the only ones left of our kind.”
“Your father?” Valdieron remembered her having said she was waiting for her father, and a connection clicked within his mind. “You are Ka'Varel's daughter!”
Talisa gasped, clutching at him desperately and hissing as she spoke. “How do you know my father? Where is he? You must tell me!”
He did tell her, slowly, and not because she did not look as if she would let him go until he did. Having found he was not the only person of Kay'taari heritage, he felt a sudden bond between himself and this young woman. He knew Ka'Varel had been somehow different when they had met, given his knowledge of the Nexus Gates and the Ashar'an. His likeness to Astan-Valar was suddenly obvious. On thought of Astan-Valar, he peered about disconcertedly, not knowing what to think of the man he had thought was mad, but was really one of his ancient kinsmen and former wielder of the Dragonsword.
“He was going to Lloreander when I last saw him, but that was when spring was new.”
Talisa's frown deepened as he spoke, and her grip relaxed on him, thankfully.
“I am sure he is all right, though. I think there is much for him yet to do.” He did not know if she was aware of what was occurring with regards to the seals and Demons, but he assumed she had partaken of the fountain before, and knew at least that much. She did not answer or remark, however, as she turned to gaze into the surrounding grove, searching for her father.
Valdieron took the opportunity to rise, not that he was uncomfortable or displeased with the position he was in, yet he assumed there was still some part of the test remaining for him, else he would have returned to the Dragon's cave outside, or back to Kel'Valor.
Rising on sore muscles that were slow to respond, he carefully checked the injuries he had sustained at the hands of the Demons and found them all but gone, a faint pink scar all that remained of the worst of the cuts to his side, but it measured less than a finger's length and painless. He felt, however, as if he had just ridden for twenty days on end without rest or food.
Talisa was muttering to herself as he reached for his sword, and he took a sudden interest.
“...would rescue me. He cannot be dead. My father must kill Zhak Lomar. He said he would rescue...” This was repeated almost as a litany as she turned slowly around, eyeing the glade, and there was unmasked fear and sorrow on her face. With a start he noticed she was only young, maybe as old as he was, but no older, though her height made her appear older.
“What must he rescue you from?” he asked softly, not wanting to alarm her by his intervention, but her trance- like actions continued. He reached out to touch her then and found her skin fiery to the touch, though soft, but the contact did seem to have an affect as he repeated the question. Her emerald gaze locked on his, and there was pain beyond her years there, holding back the force of her willful youth like a dam holding a river to bursting point.
“That is not important right now, Valdieron!”
The oddly familiar voice surprised him, for neither he nor Talisa had heard his approach. As Valdieron looked up at Astan-Valar, he felt Kel'Valor shift around him, and he was no longer in the grove. Instead, a dimly lit room of alien design surrounded him. His bare feet rested on smooth white stone, while yellow sandstone walls rose twenty feet to an arched ceiling of gold and white. Pilasters of these same hues supported the walls, all inset with silver sconces housing glowing orange globes.
Valdieron stood beneath the crystalline arch of a huge doorway, fifty feet wide and half again in height, its doors twin sections of dark wood bound with iron and marked with strange silvery sigils and runes. Beyond the doorway there was darkness, as if the room rested on the edge of nothing.
Astan-Valar stood at the far end of the room. His back was turned to Valdieron as he stood before a roaring hearth set into the wall, its reddish stones flickering with the light it produced. A Silver mantle rested above it, twenty feet across, on which a long lance was settled on golden stands. It was made of gold and silver, intertwined together in a seemingly abstract pattern, and a pale silver length three feet long was its tip, barbed and tied with chord of gold and white.
A large shield rose above it like a guard, shaped like a kite and slightly concave. A golden Dragon rose on it, its claws and teeth tiny diamonds and its eyes faceted rubies that seemed to glow with an inner life. It rested on a field of pale blue, like a clear spring morning sky.
A suit of armor rested on a stick- figure stand beside the hearth. Valdieron recognized it as he had recognized the lance from his visions, and could almost see the stains of blood he had seen marring it only minutes earlier when Astan-Valar had worn it in the visions. It was sparkling clean now, however. Golden cuirass rested over Mithril hauberk and leather underlay. Golden cuisses tassets and greaves were strapped in place, while the gilded silver helm with flaxen tassels was nestled over a wooden neck.
There was another golden weapon stand beside it that was empty, but at a glance, Valdieron knew what belonged there.
Astan-Valar wore plain white robes with the pale blue tabard of his house over it, and his feet wore white slippers of fine wool. His white- shot hair was tied back in a tail, and he wore the silver circlet and dragon bracers he had worn when Valdieron had first met him.
Valdieron realized his attire had changed. He now wore long trousers of fine blue, tight and tucked into the top of dark leather boots that looked as if he had worn them a long time. A white silk shirt covered his torso, the sleeves lined with a thin line of symbols, a closer look revealing a line of gold dragons lined head to tail. The cuffs had the same pattern, only the dragons were of varying hue, and each of the buttons that ran up the chest and on the cuffs were f
lat gemstones, none two the same color. For a change, the Dragonsword rested at his side, its scabbard hooked with a silver chain clasped to his belt so as not to trail on the ground and trip his legs.
“Welcome, Valdieron. Please, take a seat and be comfortable. I am sure you have many questions you would like answers to.”
He noticed a chair that had not been there moments before, off to his right. It was large and comfortable, with padded arms and headrest, its material a fine silk stitched with silver thread and golden studs. With a gasp of exasperation, Valdieron shifted to it and sat tentatively.
“I want answers, not more riddles.” He tried to sound assertive, but his voice cracked slightly as he realized he was trying to be firm with a dead man in a place beyond his comprehension. He sensed Astan-Valar's smile, still facing away from Valdieron as he shifted silently to the suit of armor and inspected it as if Valdieron was not there.
“What would you know?”
“Who am I?”
Astan-Valar turned then, and he was indeed smiling, as if he had known what Valdieron would ask him, and he took several steps towards Valdieron where another chair 'appeared', and he sat wordlessly.
“You do not know yet, though you must have some ideas? Well, it is an answer requiring some explanation, so I will first tell you how it is that I remained on Kil’Tar after the War of Ascension.”
Valdieron nodded slightly, for the visions he had witnessed had not shown what had happened to the Kay'taari after the battle. Astan-Valar's voice became softer, almost mellifluous as he began his tale. Valdieron rested back in the chair for comfort, sensing what Astan-Valar had to tell would take some time.
“After the war of Ascension, Kil'Tar was not a place we Kay'taari would ever call our home. Although it was beautiful and the most abundant in Essence we have witnessed throughout our travels, the damage we had caused it and the memories of our past made us long to leave. Many worlds we had been to were compatible, and as yet unsettled, so it was decided to search for these again, despite our depleted strength and numbers.
