“Now, where did she go?”
Several arrows raced toward Griffis’ back and while the sword stopped most, two got through, burning as they worked their way through his shirt. She didn’t stay in one place to watch. She was moving now, always moving, launching attack after attack at the giant, who began to shrink as a ball of fire erupted against his hip, where his crotch had been a half second before the sword pulled him away.
As he got smaller, he was more difficult to hit, and he began moving as well, seeming to enjoy the fight. Taking his cue from her efforts, Griffis used the building to his advantage, but Lydria’s senses, enhanced by her familiarity with magic, was always just ahead, jumping onto rocks meant to crush her to find a better place for her own attack. The back and forth seemed to go on for hours, while nearby Hokra still had not moved and Haustis was slowly working her way to the prince to use her amulet to heal him.
Griffis was her size now, and the two were moving so rapidly it seemed a danced choreographed by a master. But the dance was punctuated by rock shrapnel, balls of fire, and blades made from anything that could be shaped and honed.
The twin blades of Griffis’ sword burst into blue fire and Lydria was trapped in darkness. Her hand reached out and found a hard wall. There was little room to move and she knew the blade had told Griffis of magic’s weakness to Farn’Nethyn.
Lydria huddled down at the bottom of her vertical coffin, and she saw a blue flash move above her head. She could see again, but it wasn’t what she wanted. Griffis had grown immense once more and the blue blade snapped above her head again.
“You are clever, do you think, cowering in your box? A couple more slices will give me all I need.” Another slice and Lydria stood, hoping to jump out of the container that now only reached her waist, but she saw from the corner of her eye something move and she threw herself forward, putting protective shields of heat and noise around her and her friends.
The heat from the dragon’s blast was more intense than anything she’d felt before save the rainbow dragon, but she knew it was different. Opening her eyes, she saw an enormous green dragon, a bony white spine along its back, open its mouth and roar, causing an unprotected Griffis to fall to his knees and vomit.
“Garprax?”
“Stay where you are, wielder. Your fight here is done.”
The green dragon moved forward to swipe his mighty claws at Griffis’ unprotected mid-section, but the sword was too fast. It was going to protect its master, and pushed the enormous claws of the dragon away, clipping one that fell to the floor beside Lydria.
Garprax hissed a thin, strong stream of fire and steam at the man who was now evenly matched in size. The shield he held before him, the twin blades pointed to the ceiling, absorbed the dragon’s fire, and spit it back from between its points. The dragon roared again, forcing Griffis to one knee. The combatants paused, moving slowly around the remains of a once grand room. Neither had been tested so, and each looked for a weakness to exploit. Garprax feinted with a claw and snatched one of Griffis’ legs with his jaw, biting hard and holding until the hilt of the Sword of True Death hit him below the eye. Drawing back again, Griffis was wounded, and though he pointed the sword at his leg, and held it by his side, it did not heal the wound.
Lydria smiled. Across the room, she saw Haustis had reached Hokra and held her amulet to his chest, and then to her own. Back and forth the motion continued, but she would not be able to do so forever; Lydria had to act and help Garprax, but she needed more power. Before she could push herself to her knees, Griffis ran to the dragon and brought his blade down in a swipe that opened the air in front of him and opened a gash across Garprax’s chest.
Screaming with fright and horror Lydria’s voice became power as she screamed, “no, you will not hurt Garprax” and ran toward Griffis, her right fist glowing and held out to her side, she threw a wild punch. Griffis was moving as if he were moving through mud but she could only watch as the huge man slowly turned, and her fist connected with his skin. His reaction was irritation and confusion because of his altered state, but the sword hadn’t moved. A second later his eyes went wide with pain as Hokra’s hammer rang against his ankle and he fell, the sword touching the floor as Griffis slowly stumbled forward. The Sword of True Death hung low from his hands and as he started to make his way to the tear he had created, Lydria reached out with the hand she had struck Griffis with, a hand that held a stone of power.
Lydria’s small hand found a purchase on the hilt near the pommel and the moment she made contact it felt as if the whole of Vul shuddered and started to crash around her. The hammering on Griffis’ ankle did not diminish, and as the king of the Nethyn Plains pushed Lydria away, and swatted at the Chag Ca’Grae, he pushed himself up and leaped through the tear. His right foot went last, lingering on a slim piece of tendon that held it dangling and useless, mangled by Hokra’s battering, and as the tear closed, Lydria heard, for a brief second, a scream of pain before the room went suddenly quiet. An enormous booted foot sat on the floor, blood spouting from it for just a moment.
Hokra and Haustis ran to Garprax and together they mended the sword wound across his chest. He would live but he would be diminished. Lydria knelt by his side and held his eyes with her own, willing him to not return to the beach.
“You have a strong voice, wielder, and it has served us well. But please be careful, I do not wish to be healed only to have another hole in me.”
Lydria didn’t understand, but realized, as the others stared at her, that she held one blade of the Sword of True Death. It was the smaller of the two blades, and with the stone in its pommel, a new hilt, bright white against the utter darkness of the blade, shone hotly.
Lydria held the blade up in both hands so they could see it, the blue fire crackling along its sharpened lone blade. “Look, sister,” Haustis said, “The hilt and the blade, they do not touch.”
Lydria and Garprax looked closely. “It is true, Wielder. Your blade and your hilt are incompatible – perhaps because you were not meant for this weapon, yet your voice has subdued at least a portion of the weapon, and it has chosen you as its master.”
Not knowing what to do, Lydria held the blade in her right hand, and wondered how she would carry such a thing, and as she thought, the blade disappeared, and she was left holding a small carved statuette of a woman fighting a giant man. She thought about the sword again and the blade reappeared.
“That is a fine weapon.” Hokra was correct. Lydria knew that Griffis had also been correct. The stone in the hilt was more than stone in an item such as the Amulet of Haustis, the stone was part of her when it struck and so it was now connected directly with her as much as the collar she wore, and she felt more powerful than ever. She thought of the glass window Hokra had broken, and for several seconds pieces of glass lifted from the ground, as did Hokra, and they were all drawn to the frame. The glass rebuilt and Hokra stood next to it, finally submitting to a small howl of pain as the last bloody piece of glass left his backside to complete a single, unbroken pane. The Chag Ca’Grae quickly placed his hand on his buttocks and after a brief ray of golden light, he blushed and rushed back to them.
“Where did we get a dragon?” Hokra asked.
“Is it not obvious?” Haustis teased. “This is Garprax, and if I’m not mistaken, your name as a man was Dravud?”
“You are wise. That is the case. I arrived here and was placed in charge of the beach. Of all of the Nethyn Plains, Griffis has no real power there as the beach is a place of peace and contemplation, an original design of the Plains that still holds its own power. The boat-mistress begged of me to take the position, foreseeing a time of need.”
“So, we haven’t been here too long at all,” Lydria smiled, looking at the others as if the time they had spent in the Plains might be counted in mere days.
“Wielder, I beg you, do not think that. The Nethyn Plains is many things, but time is no master here. It could be that you will arrive in Eigrae at the time yo
u left, or you may arrive to find it a very different place. That is why I have warned you to make haste on your quest.”
“We can leave, then? You said, when we arrive in Eigrae,” Hokra was looking eagerly to the dragon, hoping a doorway might open in the air. Lydria saw the hope in his face and brought forth the blade and sliced across the air.
“Why has nothing happened?”
“The Sword of True Death has been sundered, and its powers diminished and so that road to Eigrae has been lost. But do not worry, I will see you home. But first, there is no master of the Plains, and I would make sure that none who saw in Griffis a great leader would try to take his throne.”
They followed Garprax into a previous chamber where he studied the disc maps and breathed a white frost across one of the panels. When he was done, he stood and started to shift, his body changing and shrinking in upon itself. In moments, Dravud stood where Garprax had been. “I have called someone to hold the chair of the Plains until I return. While we wait, we should perhaps clean the mess we’ve made.
Cleaning the rooms of Griffis was easy and after all they had been through Lydria enjoyed the process of building the room far more than destroying it. Hokra added some Chag touches by creating a mural in stone, and colorful rugs depicting the battle that had taken place. Haustis came to Dravud carrying an immense white claw and returned it to him.
“No, I wish you to take this,” he said. “The Last Haustis should have a fitting weapon, let me fashion something to your liking.” The ebony warrior ran a hand carefully along the edge of the claw – it was sharper than anything she’d held before and she reached out and hugged Dravud, whispering in his ear.
“You are wise, even among the Haustis. Give me a moment.” Dravud took the claw and moved to the end of the room. They saw his green armor grow and Garprax was back again, his back to them and bursts of flame visible as red light and shadow on the walls, his work hidden by his wings that he untucked from his body. Soon he walked back to them as Dravud, holding out a small green pouch, a similar green quiver and a fine white bow.
“This bow will not break no matter the force put upon it,” Dravud said. Its string is made from a fine strand of the claw itself that I stripped away, imparting some of the magic of dragons into it. While the string may break, it would take an exceptional force, and if it does, find a green dragon and show it to her. She will know what to do, and it will be whole once more. The quiver and the bag are made of dragon scale.”
“What is in the bag?” Hokra asked, almost at once turning sheepish, realizing he asked a question that was none of his business.
“That is a gift for the Last Haustis, and she may tell you if she chooses.” Dravud looked at Hokra and clapped his shoulder, understanding the Chags’ excitement.
“Those are rare gifts indeed.” The voice came from the previous room and Lydria turned, surprised to see Wilmamen walk toward them, and past them, wrapping her arms around Dravud and kissing him fiercely. When she pulled away, she greeted each of the three again. “The removal of Griffis has been long awaited and planned, yet our joy is Eigrae’s sorrow. He has gone back, and he has been given life again thanks to the sword.”
“He is alive? Then he can be killed!” Hokra was enthusiastic of the possibility of landing a clean blow on a mortal Griffis.
“The sword is broken and now he is no more powerful than you – less powerful, actually,” She smiled specifically to Hokra and indicated the body-less foot still sitting in a small pool of blood. “He will not rest or wait long before he begins to set his plans in motion. He knows there are more stones and from Wynter, he knows where some are. But he also is aware he will need all his skill before he can hope to fight a dragon and live, so you have some time,” she looked meaningfully at each of the three. “He will have to learn to use magic as you have and he will be limited as you are. But he will not rest with a single stone of power when there are so many more to find. I urge you, do not linger.”
Wilmamen turned to Dravud and kissed his cheek. “Get them back to the beach and ask the girl to take them home. I will prepare things for your return. It is not as we might have hoped, but we will be together here, and we will be king and queen, and perhaps we can make the Nethyn Plains something like it was meant to be.”
27-Homeward
Dravud took them by the straightest possible path back toward the beach and the shores of the Placid Abyss. Along the way he told them stories of watching countless people come and choose the different paths. Some made it to where they felt comfortable and stayed. Some were destroyed and repeated the process, sometimes often. And some, he spoke quietly, are lost forever in the Shade. “It is these people Wilmamen and I will first try to help, though due to your influence, Wynter has made a good start on that work. It is the Grey, always, working through him. The Nethyn Plains need not be an eternity of sorrow, and with Griffis gone, perhaps we can make our case to those across the Abyss, that we may join our families once more. But we do not expect that to happen, and so we shall make our homes as best we can.”
“How can you have taken countless people if you have been gone only a short time?” Hokra asked.
Before he could answer, Haustis spoke softly to the Chag. “With the Haustis, I learned much from many lifetimes of those who had gone before. Though time moves for me as it does you, I walk Eigrae like one who has done so for hundreds of years because of their influence.” She turned to Dravud to see if that made sense and he smiled and clapped her shoulder.
“Time moves differently, as I have said. A few moments in Eigrae may feel like ages here; and a few seconds here may become years on Eigrae. It is this second chance that I fear for you.”
“Do you think we will not return from where we came?” Lydria knew the answer almost as soon as the words had left her lips.
“It is not the where, that I fear, but the when.”
They were crossing a stone bridge suspended high above a chasm when Lydria realized where they were. “We are in Herewist?”
Dravud smiled, pleased that she had recognized the place. It was lighter now than it had been, and people were starting to notice, walking outside and looking at the sky as if it were some dream come suddenly to life. “Wilmamen works even now to undo all that Griffis has done. Yes, Wielder, this is Herewist, though we come by a different path. We need to find Karjan and her ring.”
Walking through the city, people stepped backwards, and some bowed as Dravud passed. Word was beginning to spread, and the people were reacting as if their new rulers would behave in the same way as their old. “It will take time, but that is the one thing we have an abundance of, so we will help them all in the end. Here, I believe, is Karjan’s interim steward.”
Puffing toward them, running with all his might, came Abulet, wearing pure white, his thin ankles and legs pumping against the stubborn fat of his thighs and mid-section. Had they been on Eigrae Lydria would have worried he would fall over and die from exhaustion, but here there was no such worry.
“Welcome, Dravud. Your highness,” he corrected. “Word has come that Vul Dravud now sits the throne in Vul.” He looked at Lydria and the others, his small round eyes swimming with happiness, and he said congratulations to them in whispered tones in case Dravud should overhear.
“Worry not, Abulet. Congratulations are indeed in order, and as I see you wear the color of Karjan, I would like you to take us to her.”
Abulet smiled and motioned for them to follow him to the tavern where the stairs to her apartments could be found. The front door was thrown wide and the blinds rolled up, as those in the tavern delighted in the light and the whisper of a breeze that had only just started to arrive. “There will be some who still hold to the old ways, but we will find them and convince them in one way or another that they should change. That the old ways are finished.”
Abulet told them not to touch the walls, but they did not need to be reminded. Hokra kept his hands locked in the top of his belt and looked nowhere but
to his shoes.
At the bottom, the fire door flowed freely, until Abulet set the face of the ring Hokra had recaptured into the center of the fire door. There was a loud click and Abulet twisted his wrist and the fires of the door fell away, leaving the rainbow gem door in its wake. Begging their pardon and squeezing by as best he could, Abulet opened the door, and Karjan was there to greet them. She bowed deeply, her left foot planted and her right kicked out behind her left and swung to the side with her knee locked. Her arms were spread wide and her face nearly touched her knee. Her tail barely moved as it too was raised slightly from the ground.
“Dravud, welcome back, and you as well travelers. It has been seemingly forever since anyone has gone to Vul and returned.” Karjan made a beeline toward Hokra who seemed uncomfortable by the attention she gave. “How can I help you?”
“We require passage to the beach,” Dravud said. There was a slight tension in his words which the woman correctly understood to mean he was in a hurry.
“Will you be coming back through Herewist?” she practically cooed to their guide-turned king.
“My queen and I will make our way through all the kingdoms in short order,” he said, politely sidestepping her advance and keeping her focused on his desire for speed. “Of course, your excellency.” She turned to Lydria, “I understand you are in a hurry, but is there anything I can offer you in way of thanks and aid as you attempt to return to your home?”
Lydria thought for a moment and looked at Haustis and Hokra, and it was the Chag who spoke. “Are there others of your kind on Eigrae?”
Karjan’s laughter lifted their spirits, it was clean and joyous. “Of course, small prince. Just as there are more of those,” and she pointed to a corner of the room where Alabast stood encased in ice, staring out the windows into a world he could no longer be a part of. “When I left the world, the Wisken, as my people are called, were not an empire of any size, but we controlled a large forested island in the southern seas. The Wisken are, or were, a solitary people, and for the most part a peaceful people. We would far rather spend our time engaged in pursuits of happiness than in martial endeavors. Yet, we are not foolish to think evil does not exist.”
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