Mara felt disgusted at the sight of the dead brought back to life in such a hideous, pathetic condition. Their bloated and bruised flesh jiggled as they lumbered towards their necromancer masters, moaning cries for help, perhaps pleas for mercy and release, the ability to sink into the final world of the dead. Mercy was not given to them.
At last it seemed the whole island was covered with Aurellia’s horde until the sorcerers and necromancers took flight to the sky, summoning clouds to mount, and surveyed the army below. The three elders took to the skies as well, rising above the others. Their faces held the unhappy expression of contempt as they gazed upon those massed on the land. Though vast in number, perhaps a thousand necromancers and sorcerers, and an army of ten thousand, still Mara guessed that this force was insufficient to challenge the ancients of Vellia. Let alone face the dragons.
When Mara thought the procession was complete, the portal stirred to life, ejecting four figures robed in drab brown cloth. Priests? Workmen? The newcomers seemed to command great respect as the army parted like a giant hand slicing the sea, allowing the four figures to stride towards the ocean’s edge. The leader of the band, a towering man with a bald, shiny head, raised muscled, enormous arms towards the sea. Even the three Elders seemed engrossed in gazing at what would happen next.
With a shout, the water in front of the bald man stirred to life and streams of sand spiraled through the air towards the churning vortex off the shore. Water, sand, air, sun. Mixing together, assembling into form, layers and layers building something of fantastical size. An island? A barrier or wall of some kind? A ship? Mara mused as she gawked at the man’s power to mold raw elements into such a massive, well-crafted form. As the minutes went by, the man shaped sleek lines around the perimeter of what appeared to be a vessel of some kind, for it floated above the water.
A grand ship waited in the ocean for Aurellia’s forces.
5. RED RING
Talis knew he’d never return to the island where Mara and Nikulo were held by Aurellia’s elders. His journey moved in the opposite direction and filled his heart with sadness and left a bitter taste. With the Death Magic circulating inside his body, Talis could feel the ash in his mouth and nostrils. He sneezed, still unused to the sensation. Was he resigned to the task of trying to fool the dragons? Perhaps there was no other way for him to go right now. He had to do whatever Aurellia commanded him to do.
At the desolate, rocky foothills of the Kingdom of Ghaelstrom, Talis studied a vast, angry line of storm clouds preparing an assault on the jagged spires and ice-capped cliff faces. His stomach burned with a strange kind of heat and throbbed like the strumming of a lute’s string, and yet he was oddly absent of hunger. Aurellia had spent the night in a bizarre meditation: levitating, flames lapping around his figure, but his inner core as still as the boulders strewn around them. Still buzzing from the sensation of the ash invading his body, Talis had spent the night in silent observation of the unknown stars of Vellia, of the winds that raged outside their protective, magical bubble, of the mountains that seemed on the verge of speaking some wisely buried secret.
Now the dark lord stirred, opening an eye as if testing the light in the world. The protective bubble expired and the wind snapped around him, sending his robes flapping behind. He unfolded his body and floated up to an exalted pose, arms extended wide, as if inviting lightning to strike his fingertips.
“The day is new and full of life.” Aurellia returned to the ground and strode over to Talis. His eyes dug into Talis as if highly suspicious of what he saw. “Almost hopeless. What can we do with such a pathetic excuse for a dragon? We’ll have to perfect your hold over the form. And teach you to temper your dragon desires. The last time you assumed the form it got you killed. We’ll need to prevent such foolishness this time.”
How could Talis ever forget the first time he’d flown in dragon form? The Netherworld. The wind and the hunt and the craving to consume the flesh of the rock-beast. Talis winced at the memory of the pain wracking his heart. The poison that killed him and sent him to the gates of the Underworld. A vivid reminder of how Aurellia had bought his life through the blood oath of loyalty. And he hated the memory, hated the fact he’d swore allegiance to this monster, hated himself for not allowing himself to die in the Netherworld. Wasn’t he dead now, anyway?
Talis bowed his head to the dark lord and only raised his eyes when Aurellia asked him to follow. He shuffled along after him, resentment coursing through his heart, and they hiked for a long while over granite, crystal, and volcanic boulders until they reached a massive, flat rock ledge that overlooked a milky, cobalt-blue lake. The hike did him good, cooling his temper and allowing him time to accept his fate.
Aurellia inspected the surroundings and set runic traps around a wide perimeter, and satisfied, instructed Talis to think back to his time meditating in the cave inside the Netherworld. The demon’s sadistic snake slit eyes. Palarian’s instructions on casting the Shadow Transformation spell. The dark fibers—Talis felt a hand clenching deep in his gut—I can feel them snaking out from my stomach. Even now they were still with him, even after journeying a world away, even with the Death Magic churning through his veins.
“Now close your eyes and repeat what you’ve been taught.” The way Aurellia said the words meant he was testing Talis’s skill and memory.
It wasn’t hard to repeat everything that Palarian had taught him. First Talis focused his memory on the eyes of the demon and let the demon’s power sink down into his stomach. Like snakes slithering in his gut. The dark fibers in his stomach wriggled to life like earthworms in the rain. They projected from him like a fountain, up and all around, and created a coddling cocoon that nestled him in a warm feeling of comfort and protection. He could stay like this forever. Just shut the world out. Safe from danger, from Aurellia, from this malevolent world.
But the feeling didn’t last. Soon another alien mind took over and craved to consume, to carry him away and break free of this confining shell. The hard, black beak smashed through the wet cocoon and his shiny, black wings flapped in a panic, sending out globs of fluid in a rush of wind. He hungered for live flesh. Images of fat, tasty sheep popped into his dragon mind, and he hungered, how he hungered to feast. He scanned the rock ledge and discovered Aurellia staring at him with curious, doubtful eyes.
“I don’t taste good, young dragon.” The dark lord cleared his throat as if something rancid was stuck inside. “But since you are truly in dire need, loyal apprentice…I can show you a secret hunting location in these mountains famous for the great horn sheep. You are new to the sensation of changing forms. Once you change into an animal form, that form is immediately hungry. This only happens once until you first feed. You’ll see how much better you’ll feel afterwards.”
Aurellia slightly flourished his hands and began rising into the air. “Follow me, young dragon mage. To the hunt, to Ghaelstrom.”
Talis raised his massive, black wings and beat them furiously until he sped after Aurellia’s figure fading off in the distance. He closed the gap and spit fire into the wind, relishing the feeling of the heat and smoke singeing his nostrils. The ground fell far below as they aimed for storm clouds. Sporadic flashes of lightning illuminated the sky. Hunger wracked Talis’s dragon stomach, shooting quick jolts of excruciating pain, demanding flesh to satiate the craving.
The extreme climb in elevation felt dizzying as they soared higher, the granite cliffs jutting thousands of feet up towards the grey and black clouds. A torrent of rain suddenly lashed Talis, causing him to dip dangerously down near the ragged peaks mottled with ice flows and sharp rocks. A wingtip scraped an ice-capped boulder and Talis flapped his wings instinctively to avoid colliding into the ground. Aurellia popped down out of the tempestuous storm, eyes the fury of a banshee, his expression contemptuous and diligent.
“Keep up and over the mountains, you fool!” shouted the dark lord, and he cast some kind of shadow web spell that yanked Talis up so fast he fel
t momentarily disoriented from the rise in elevation. They reached a calmer gap between the clouds and Aurellia released his hold.
“Do you want to die like before? Follow me where I lead…I know these mountains like my home. Ghaelstrom is famous for killing immortals…even for killing the gods. Mortals wisely stay far afoot from the entire mountain range.”
Talis seethed under the humiliation, finding his feeling hard to control in dragon form. For a moment he was tempted to bathe Aurellia’s shrunken figure in fire and smoke. Not that it would do any damage. Soon they collided into a wall of storm clouds—more rain and rumbling thunder—and dove again, so fast Talis could barely keep up. Visibility cleared and they broke out into a vast, grassy valley with a long sliver of a lake nestled in between two, towering peaks.
“The Valley of Caern,” announced Aurellia, and paused his flight to hover and inspect the lush meadow. “The place of power and rest, one of the many hunting grounds for the dragons. Feast young apprentice! Get your fill of great horn sheep.”
The hunger surged through Talis and his dragon mind responded, commanding his body to curl into a dive. He pumped his wings vigorously, savoring the thick scent of sheep in the air. His eyes locked on a tender ewe scrambling away, its movements urgent from the warning bleats of the adults. He dropped sharply, swooping towards the creature, claws stretched out, and grabbed the ewe with one claw and felt the yank of a large rock with the other.
Pain surged in his right wing and spine as he whipped around and crashed into a boulder. He tumbled over the ground, still clutching the sheep. He came to a stop in the shadow of the mountain, sneezed smoke, and could only think of one thing: ingesting the ewe whole. The creature was dead by now, and Talis tossed the sheep into the air—roasting it mid-flight—and chomped on the tender flesh, still craving for more.
A flock of great horn sheep stared suicidally down at the pathetic sight, then they turned and bolted away upon catching Talis’s gaze. He hobbled himself up to a standing position just in time to spot Aurellia’s mocking eyes.
“Do I have to catch them for you? We want the dragons to treat you as a god, a fulfillment of prophecy—not as a joke.”
Enraged, Talis opened his jaws and shot a burst of fire at the dark lord, enveloping his diminutive figure in flames. Laughter erupted from within the inferno. A whorl formed within the fire and pulled the smoke and the flames into itself. Soon the smoke cleared and Talis could see Aurellia’s shape and his open mouth sucking the fire inside.
“Thank you for that. A bit of heat to warm up these old bones.” Aurellia’s wicked scowl sent fear bounding down Talis’s spine. “Try that again and I’ll have you chained inside one of the caves in those mountains. You won’t like the feeling of hunger a dragon gets after years with no food. And in case you are wondering, I’ve perfected a binding spell that forces one to retain their animal form. Imagine yourself as a starving dragon, all alone in a cave. And I won’t even care….”
“It was only an accident.” Talis realized he wasn’t speaking out loud; he was communicating to Aurellia with his mind. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
The dark lord scoffed and studied Talis as if there was something fundamentally wrong with what he saw. “Eat more, you foolish dragon. Go! Flap those wings of yours and get hunting! We have work to do. I have to prepare you to properly greet the dragons of Ghaelstrom.”
After several more awkward attempts at catching sheep, Talis slowly improved his hunting skill and was able to roast and eat four more sheep. He belched fire and felt like taking a nap after the long feast. The sun broke through a gap in the thick clouds and warmed Talis’s back. He gazed at the tall grass swaying under the mountain breeze and found his eyes drooping under the hypnotic movements. Soon he drifted off to sleep, brilliant lights like crystals flashed in his mind’s eye, and a red ring appeared, ominous and stark.
The red ring blinked open, the red ring of an ancient dragon’s eye.
6. THE ARMADA
“What is he making?” whispered Nikulo, and he leaned forward and shielded his eyes from the brilliant morning sun.
Mara doubted anyone would stop them if they went in for a closer look. Surely it couldn’t possibly hurt? She decided she had to find out, so she strode forward, clutching Nikulo’s arm, thinking that whatever must be done would be better done together than all alone.
Not a soul turned their head to watch Mara and Nikulo as they approached the crowd. Everyone, living and the dead, stared in complete concentration as the bald man worked his magic on his creation. The sides of the ship he was building appeared as a smooth granite face. But how did it float atop the sea? Surely it was too heavy. Mara pushed her way past a crowd of living dead (who grunted in response) and found herself feeling the waves wash over her feet as she gazed at the wondrous workings of the wizard.
The bald man’s deep, inset eyes were green and ferocious as a lunatic. His eyebrows were silver and wild, wiry and long, swept back to the sides. Jaw set and teeth clenched as if holding a terrific pressure, the man formed his fingers into a tiger’s claw and directed a vast quantity of raw elements into the ship’s formation. As the ship grew taller and heavier, it appeared to sink deeper into the water, and it seemed like the man shifted his focus to draw the sand from underneath the vessel, as if to create a kind of bay for the craft.
“Dock!” the bald man shouted, and the three men surrounding him spread out and raised their hands, emulating the stance and arm position of the bald man. Though vastly younger than their leader, the men’s faces still held the same intense expression and the same curl of their fingers.
Soon these wizards commanded the elements all around them and formed a land dock that led from the shore out to the side of the ship, and was wide enough for a quad of soldiers to march along it. Mara marveled at their skill and speed in forming the crude yet functional dock. While she had been paying attention to the creation of the dock, the master completed the vast ship. It was almost a trick of the eyes. What had once been a plain, stark formation, now was festooned with blood-red streamers along the wooden deck and massive metallic mastheads with black sails snapping in the breeze. A long, broad gangplank lowered magically to the dock.
“Load the vanguard!” shrieked Elder Raelles. He flew towards the ship with his retinue of sorcerers following. A battalion of soldiers marched out over the dock, their boots rapping in rhythm on the stone surface. How many soldiers could the ship hold? And why were they using a ship for transportation instead of just creating a portal to their destination? Mara suspected that the ancients protected their lands with magic, perhaps one that rendered portals unable to function.
The last of the battalion marched onto the ship, and the gangplank returned on its own accord into a hole in the side of the vessel. Somewhere a trumpet sounded and the wind, as if responding to the call, crashed into the black sails. The ship groaned low and loud, as if an ancient, sleeping beast woken after a millennial slumber, and glided towards open sea.
“How many more ships will they need to make?” Nikulo whispered in Mara’s ear.
After a scan of the remaining army on shore, Mara guessed they’d need an armada of around ten ships to hold everyone. She dared a few steps closer to the bald man who rested on a boulder jutting out of the sea. He caught her and Nikulo’s approach and frowned, as if confused by their existence in the bleak field of undead soldiers.
With a flick of his wrist, Mara found herself lurching forward and into the air towards the wizard. She and Nikulo landed next to the man, who studied them with a kind curiosity.
“And who might you two be? You’re not natives…you wear the clothing of children from Naru. And you child”—the wizard tilted his head and looked at Mara—“you bear the countenance of royalty. How strange. And yet the master holds his own secrets. When we heard Lord Aurellia had left our world we feared we’d never see him again. The Jiserian Empire was thrown into confusion and civil war. Especially after the disastrous batt
le of Naru. The Child of the Sun. A terrible defeat.”
Was he talking about Talis winning the last battle against the Jiserian sorcerers and necromancers? But the man’s eyes held no malice; his sun-baked face emanated warmth and a playful kind of interest.
“I am Mara, and this is my friend Nikulo. We are from Naru. I was kidnapped by the one called Palarian.” Mara studied the man’s dark reaction to the name of the ancient sorcerer. “The one you call ‘The Child of the Sun’ is my best friend, Talis. He is with us now here on this world, out someplace with your master. Do you know where he is?”
The bald man gave a defeated chuckle and shook his head. “He is unknowable, our master. I am called The Builder to most, and Goleth to my friends. I like the calm fury in your eyes and the kindness that rests behind them. For you, please call me Goleth. We are both strangers brought to an alien world. You, taken from your family and home, and me, from my wife and children. With the gods’ blessing, we will return home safely.”
“If there is a home to return to.” Mara’s voice was bitter as she blurted out the words. Goleth’s eyes darkened, but he nodded in assent.
“Wise words for one so young. But you have spoken the truth. And our work is heavy and the battle doomed from the start. Civil war has torn the Jiserian Empire in two. Those that have remained are traitors to our master. And many of my people have declared the quest impossible. They claimed that the ancients of Vellia possess a magic vastly superior to their own. To attempt to return to Vellia and overthrow the Kingdom of Zhael was deemed ridiculous. What do you think?”
Dragon Mage (Blacklight Chronicles) Page 4
