“Let us finish this,” said a too familiar and haunting voice, a voice that she had heard before in the inner sanctum days ago, a voice that had wanted her dead. “I trust neither the beast nor this priestess. Kill the drake,” he commanded.
“Always business as usual with you, Arch Mage,” Jezebel said, walking over to where Cornelia had fallen at the edge of the shallow waters. Using her golden dagger, she poked and prodded at what was left of the Fist of Astor. “Ugh, you could make a divine Astorian stew with what is left of this wench priestess,” Jezebel said, a mocking sound in her voice again echoing across the chamber.
“Jezebel, stop playing with the corpse and get on with it. One can never be too careful or quick around a draconus.” She heard the voice behind her, but this time it was much closer to her.
In horror Kris grabbed a flask of what Olivia had thought was water and poured it over what little that was left of the melted, lifeless body of Cornelia. Then he took a fire stick from his belt pouch, lit it, and then set the dead holy Fist of Astor’s remains on fire.
The crackling of the flames was gruesome to hear, and Olivia tried to move, to do anything. She willed her mind towards the pendant to give it life, to urge it to power her with holy energy, but nothing happened. After a couple of moments she heard Jezebel.
“Finish burning what is left of that body, and leave no trace, but take her mace. It will make a fine addition to my collection.” Then Jezebel laughed again, and Kris did as he was commanded.
Olivia could not move, though she could feel a breath against her cheek. “Now it is your turn, little priestess. You think you could unite the order and Crown against us? I think not. You were incapable of handling a mere drake and not even one of the larger ones at that. What makes you think you can stand against the power of Kesh?”
“Oh, get on with it, Am-Azor, and stop your own playing. She’s just a child,” Jezebel scoffed as she walked up to the great black dragon and started to stab it with her golden dagger. “Bring me the poison,” she commanded Kris.
Olivia saw the porter opening his pack as it sat on the edge of the mound, and he stooped over it, rummaging through it for something.
“They look just like a big stupid reptile when you get up close to them—nothing a large dose of poison can’t handle.” She jabbed the black dragon with her dagger between its massive scales, and a small amount of black oozing blood came from the wound.
Olivia felt a robed arm across the front of her shoulders steadily holding her, and then she heard the familiar sinister voice. “It dawned on me that though I thought you did not hear me in the Astor Temple, from your actions you obviously did. That stupid master of yours played his part like a willing fool, and now you will pay the ultimate price for your order’s meddling in our internal affairs. This time you will die and only hear my voice as you did in the sanctum. No, I will not show you my face, priestess. Give my regards to your mother.” With that she felt a stinging sensation across her neck and felt the quickly pouring blood as it ran down her chest and soaked her tunic beneath her chain mail.
Blackness started to take her, and as she drifted off into death, she heard Jezebel’s hysterical, mocking laughter slowly fade into silence.
Chapter 20
Death
Felix had watched in horror as the entire scene unfolded before him. The blast of the dragon’s acid had killed Perceval and his men. Two may have lived, but they had fallen face first into the dark shallow waters. The Kesh paralysis magic would have sealed their fates by drowning them, if the acid didn’t kill them first.
The ranger himself had actually fallen below the water as well, but when he rose he was sitting in it with his back propped against a large stone block that was half-submerged. He was facing the black dragon as it had landed on poor Pascal. Then he had witnessed the bodyguard of Jezebel, the one called Azor, plant his staff into the waters and speak the Kesh words of magic, and the staff erupted into a dazzling bright blue light. The minute the light touched him, he found he was paralyzed.
He tried to scream. He tried to move. He tried desperately to stop the evil he was witnessing against the only woman he had ever started to care for. Then they killed her. His hope left him, and he wanted nothing more than for them to do the same to him. He wanted to look away, but he could not. The Hand of Astor, Olivia Moross, died before his very eyes.
He heard the Kesh talking about poisoning the dragon, and he silently wished for death and waited.
Qui Amatha was old, older than any mere human. She was not just any black dragon. No, she was considered the Mother Drake of all black dragons, and they paid her homage. She in turn paid homage to the Elder Queen Dragon, a huge red dragon that oversaw their society here on Agon.
Despite the many years of her life, and her many awakenings, feedings, and killings, she learned very quickly to respect those humans who wielded the power of the arcane, for they were one of the few who could bring down a creature such as herself. Thus there was no love lost between draconus and mage. They hated each other to the core, and in the four visions of her species the mages shown out brightly and clearly when seen in the ultraviolet spectrum. They could not hide from her kind.
So when she saw the arcane user clearly, she allowed her anger and instincts to get the better of her, and she launched her attack before she was clearly ready. Now she knew real danger as the mage paralyzed her in place. Despite her massive size, the binding charged particles that the man was using were more than enough to counter her strong muscles. No, she could not move, but she could think.
Hubris was always the human’s weakness. Once they tasted power, they let it go to their puny heads and thought themselves invincible. Pride could always be counted upon to be present in the human race somewhere in someone at any given time. The small golden-jeweled woman who pricked her with a small weapon was most annoying. Qui Amatha had an intense desire the kill the human woman who was preparing to poison her.
But the danger was real and close, very close. She had to do something and do it fast. Qui Amatha was known, even amongst her peers, as the most cunning and intelligent of her species. She rolled her eyes inwards and let the power of Agon flow through her as she emanated her call for evil to rise and come to her aid.
This was not how it was supposed to be, Olivia thought in the darkness. She had her family’s enchanted armor on to protect her from fang and claw. She had the special magical potion from the old historian to protect her from the dragon’s breath weapon. She had the special ring from Horag to prevent anyone or anything from controlling her mind, and finally she had the special holy sword once wielded by a Fist of Astor, divinely anointed to slay the beast. How could this be? All of this for naught?
Olivia awoke to find herself on a small river bank, with grass under her feet and the soft sounds of running water mixed with the call of woodland birds and the gentle rustling of trees. The sun was shining, and it lit her face with warmth. She felt at peace, and the worries of the world had left her, but she wasn’t alone. She sat up and looked across the river. There, standing, was Arabella.
Olivia stood and waved. “I’m here, Arabella. It’s me, Olivia.”
Arabella strained to see across the small river bank. Olivia didn’t understand how the woman could not see her. She was looking right at her. Olivia felt foolish, but she was jumping up and down now and waving her arms madly above her head. Finally the woman seemed to see her.
“Ah, there you are, child. I thought I felt your presence near, but you are not in my realm.” A sad look crossed her face. “I’m afraid we have failed you.”
“What do you mean, Matriarch Arabella? What are you talking about?”
Then another figure walked up to Arabella. She seemed beautiful, and she was tall, with long blonde hair and a swagger in her walk. She approached Arabella, and then finally Olivia recognized her. It was Cornelia, though she looked so much younger and . . . well, much more attractive than she did in her armor. Cornelia seemed to
see her much more easily.
“Olivia, I am sorry as well. I have failed you too, little sister. The darkness calls you, but remember me. Remember our Mother. Avenge me, Olivia. Avenge me!”
Cornelia raised an arm in salute, and suddenly they seemed to be pulling away. The entire river seemed to widen, taking them away from her. She tried to step into the river to swim towards them, but the river burned her foot, and she backed away in pain. The ground underneath her started to change, and the grass curled up and died, changing to black. The trees withered within seconds, and the leaves turned first brown and then black, crumbling like dust on the wind. The sun was obscured by intense black clouds, and darkness descended across the landscape before she felt the summons and realized that she had to obey.
When Olivia was murdered, her body remained standing. The magic from the staff kept her now dead muscles rigid, and the paralysis of her body had remained, keeping it in a standing position.
Felix watched in despair as the wizard called the porter for fuel to burn Olivia. The porter ran over and gave the man the flask, and he raised it to pour on Olivia. Suddenly Olivia stepped back, eyes suddenly glowing a dull red. The sword, which was still in her hand, began to move in a figure eight maneuver that was faster than the eye could follow. She let her last swing sever the mage’s hand, which still held the flask over her head, just above the wrist.
“No!” the evil Kesh mage yelled, pulling back his severed stump and holding it with his other hand while the flask and dismembered hand tumbled into the murky water. “Kill her!” he yelled.
Kris, who was standing right beside them, did not hesitate. He took his sword, plunged it into Olivia’s neck just beneath her collar bone but above the top of her chain mail, and pushed it deep into her torso.
Olivia looked at Kris, and then, turning full circle and pulling the blade free of his hands, she used her momentum to bring her blade across horizontally at a high rate of speed. She severed the man’s head clean off, hearing it plunk into the water a short distance away.
“You stupid girl!” she heard Jezebel scream, still preparing to inject poison into the black dragon, where she had carved out a wound to insert her large needle.
Arch Mage Am-Azor tried to run to his staff, which was planted in the mucky bottom of the chamber, and Olivia moved to block him, using her free hand to grab his throat. The man struggled to free himself from her icy grip, but he had only one useful hand, as his stump flailed wildly about.
Olivia pulled him near to her, and she realized her vision was enhanced, as was her strength. The pendant at her breast glowed a bright ebony color, and the same glow was coming from her skin. She pulled the man close to her face so that they were looking eye to eye. His face contorted in fear and pain, and he glanced sideways at his staff, which was just out of his reach.
“Now I see your face, wizard,” Olivia spat, and she noticed that her own reflection was in the pupils of the Kesh mage. She saw twin pinpricks of red light glowing from her own eyes, and she understood. Then she heard the command.
Release me.
She turned to face the dragon and saw Jezebel picking up her dagger and something else from her pack. Then she looked back at the dragon’s eyes, saw the same red glow, and heard her command.
Release me, Slave Olivia.
Then Olivia laughed, much the same as Jezebel had done earlier, while the mage struggled to breathe in her iron-fisted grasp. Olivia used a finger on her sword hand to toy with the golden ring that Horag had given to her. “Slave? Oh, I think not, Qui Amatha. Yes, I know your name . . . dragon. I think, however, I will release you, but only for a moment to serve me.” Then, turning, she took two steps to the brightly glowing staff and stepped in front of it, blocking the light from hitting the dragon.
Qui Amatha suddenly surged, lashing out at the danger next to her.
“No, this is impossible!” Jezebel screamed. “You stupid girl!” were her last words on this planet as the great black drake consumed her whole. There was silence for a moment as the dragon eyed Olivia warily, sat back on its hind legs, and then laid its head on its front claws.
Olivia then stepped away from the staff, allowing the light to once again touch the black dragon, freezing it in place. With one final look at the mage, Olivia started to squeeze tighter.
“But . . . you . . . are . . .just a . . .child,” the mage said, as his eyes closed and his last breath exited his lungs, both arms finally dropping from Olivia’s hand to fall limply at his side. The color of the chamber suddenly changed dramatically as the brightly intense blue light was replaced with the same ebony-hued light that the pendant emitted. The mage’s paralyzing staff was now under Olivia’s control.
Olivia allowed the mage’s body to drop into the water, and then she noticed, as she looked back and could see Felix, that the ranger was still there, paralyzed but very much alive. She walked over to him and grabbed his hand.
For Felix the effect was immediate. He could move again when she touched him, and she stood between him and the staff. Her face was ashen, the eyes lifeless except for the red pinpricks of light, glowing as if embedded deep within her lifeless eyes. Her throat was slit, and traces of fresh blood still oozed from it. She smelled of kerosene from being doused by the Kesh wizard not long ago.
“Olivia, we must leave here . . .” Felix said, and his words trailed off as he realized how insane he must sound.
“No, Felix. You must leave. Here I will stay as the guardian of the great black drake. You must return and bring tidings to my order and the Crown. You must let my brother, Osric, know not to come searching for me. You must do this, Ranger. On your honor, swear to me that it will be done.”
Her look was so serious, and Felix understood as he looked at the staff and her pendant that the light from the staff was now ebony in color and matched Olivia’s holy charm. He felt a tear roll from his cheek as she guided him back to the corridor and released his hand. “I will, Olivia. I’ll do that for you.”
Olivia nodded sadly, and then smiled. “Go, my love, and never forget me.”
Felix thought he saw a tear in the corner of Olivia’s eye, and then he turned and ran back down the corridor, never looking back and never to return.
Epilogue
One Month Later
Felix watched the old man as he continued to write on his piece of parchment in the dimly lit tavern where they were sitting. He was two days out from the Ulathan capital, Utandra, and one day from what was left of Tannis at a traveler’s inn and tavern. This was as far as Felix had agreed to go to meet the royal historian, Diamedes.
“So you’re sure the beast is secure?” Diamedes asked, peering over his spectacles.
“You heard my story, sir, and what it means or doesn’t is up to you to document. I can’t make guarantees or promises,” Felix said.
“Understood, Ranger, and you shouldn’t have to, but Duke Uthor has many questions, as does the Supreme Patriarch, and the Kesh ambassador Rualf. It behooves me to glean every detail that I can in order to assess the situation properly,” Diamedes said.
“Well, I’ve told you everything I know for the last three hours, and time is getting late. You should have what you need, enough to satisfy the nobles.”
“Perhaps, but one never knows what satiates the nobility in times like these. The part that the Kesh played in your expedition will be most troubling for the nobles. Likely it will lead to the sundering of their working relationship, and I expect there will be war between Kesh and the Ulathan realm. You must be sure of what you have said. The consequences are too dire for anything less.”
“You heard the truth, historian, and you know the source. I am a defender of the Arnen, so gauge the veracity of my words by that standard. What news have you of Olivia’s mentor?”
“You mean Markus?” Felix nodded, so Diamedes continued. “Well, the Supreme Patriarch sent a cleansing crew to the temple there and found no trace of the man. There were screams and a bright white light from th
e inner sanctum room, but when Hand Thomas was able to finally open the door, they found it empty and dark. He was gone without a trace.”
“That sounds way too fishy and even . . . convenient,” Felix responded as he stood and gathered his belongings. “The messenger of death is now visible in the night sky. We are running out of time.”
“You refer to the comet that heralds the coming of Dor Akun?”
“I do. The prophecies are true, the transit comes soon. Best prepare yourself master historian.”
“Where are you going?” Diamedes asked, as Felix pushed in his chair and dropped three silver pieces on the table to pay for his food and ale.
“I have a promise to keep.”
“What promise might that be?” the old man asked, eyebrows arched.
“I will go north to the wild lands where the Dragon War rages and seek out Osric Moross, brother of Olivia Moross, and tell him what has happened to his sister and his father and hope he heeds my counsel.”
“What counsel would that be?” Diamedes asked.
“The counsel to stay away from his sister’s resting place. There are no answers there, only despair and death,” Felix said, walking towards the door.
Diamedes stood for a moment, and then motioned with his hand. “One last question, Ranger. Your name—I have only your first name, Felix. For the record, what is your full name?”
“For your history, Diamedes, I am known as Felix Terrel.”
Then the ranger left the inn and headed north.
Diamedes wrote one last word in his parchment—Terrel—before sighing and exclaiming, “Bloody hell.”
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