A cry rose through the air, long and powerful, the cry of blood.
“Brother, this is not your struggle!”
Four saw the figure that approached and knowing his name cursed, a multitude of darkness rejoiced. Noman now knew the one who held the guardian of the gate at bay.
“But it is—it is!” said the other.
Dalphan turned and met the cold stare of Sathar the Dark. Noman saw a test of time in the locked gazes.
“Why?” said the other with a voice deeply hurt and sad. “Why have you turned your back on us, brother? You yourself made the pact and created the cycle.”
Dalphan only answered with his own cold stare.
The voice set the shadow off balance and Ayrian seized the opportunity to lunge at it. He probed deep within the shadow with both his poised talons, severing the threads of the beast’s negative energy from the inside out with a careful twisting of the energies that were within him. In a burst of evil yellow light the shadow winked from existence, hurled back to the plane it had been sent from. Ayrian inhaled a much-deserved breath of satisfaction; and then, as gravity took its course, he plummeted from the dark sky.
Two figures regarded each other for an instant more. Dalphan was the first to strike out. A sphere of brilliant blue-white light enshrouded his body, radiating, pulsating, when the power grew to its strongest in a dazzling array that when sent racing towards his foe turned night to day as opposing forces met in full fury. Seemingly meaningless, the other struggles around the crumbled dome ceased, and all eyes turned to watch the two with anticipation.
Sathar changed form and grew into a colossus, the shape of death incarnate, the shape of the most ancient demon the darkness had ever conjured. The demon seemed to smile as it enveloped Sathar and found life once again. Its misshapen form was a mass of wings and torso covered with a multitude of arms and legs, blocking out the light of the moon and stars from the sky while the tips of its leviathan wings beat against the edges of the dome sending shards of stone showering downward. With each such beat, a blast of gale-force winds kicked up dirt and rocks, even the large boulders that had toppled from the midsection of the great wall, into the air. The demon reached out with its barbed hands and buried Dalphan’s small form within them, wresting the other’s life with the weight of its grasp.
A howling, maddened cackle arose; shape-shifting was a skill given first to Dalphan. He easily transformed, slipping gradually through the demon’s barbed hands. At first only a long, sinewy tail was visible, but then a large caped head eased upward. A giant serpent slithered from the demon’s grasp, wrapping its way around the huge misshapen mass as it did so. With its deft coil, the serpent constricted while it wound its way up toward the great head of the demon. The snake hissed as it stood poised ready to strike, jaws spread wide, exposing its heinous fangs. A mocking laugh issued from the fiend and again it changed forms, shifting into the image of beauty and love in its purest form.
Dalphan looked into the eyes of his beloved and although he knew it was not her, he could not strike. The head of the serpent took on an inhuman face and tears issued from its inhuman eyes. Slowly, the face gathered mass, shifting back and forth between features, until it stopped and focused. The countenance Dalphan chose was not that of a terrestrial being, nor was it a creature of darkness, but that of the All-Father himself. The dark forces cowered in awe; their leader was so unnerved that he regained his true form. Dalphan’s macabre demeanor drifted away and his mood turned to joy as he crushed the life from his brother; yet the dark one would not be defeated so easily. He knew his time here was spent—in another place and time, he could continue the struggle. He licked the saliva dripping from his lips and bit down upon the serpent, releasing the force of his soul upon Dalphan. Raw power exploded in the air, severing what remained of the dome and its supporting walls. In a flash of overbearing light, the two vanished, and in his mind Noman heard the clatter of the gate, a low, grinding rumble, as it snapped shut.
Slowly, very slowly, those assembled dishearteningly rejoined the attack; the forces of darkness were trapped now on this plane. The Beast and Amir found each other once again. They paused momentarily to let each other regather their wits; neither would take advantage of an unfair situation. This was a fight of honor between them. During the long struggle they had come to know each other; they were not much different. The child who had chosen light and the one who had chosen darkness had grown to respect each other.
Alone, Ayrian, Xith, and Noman stood on the platform and waited. Their thoughts wandered momentarily to the fallen form of a small boy, which lay partially buried beneath the rubble around them. The dark forces besieged them again. Although their number had considerably dwindled since their first attack, their glee was now disenchanted, and they could no longer draw upon the powers of that other dark world. Noman stole a moment of hesitation to touch a healing hand to Ayrian, enabling him to return to the sky upon fleet wings. Like Xith, he only had the power of binding, yet this was all that was necessary. Afterwards he looked to the shaman. Only three of the demons remained and with unspoken approval Xith lashed out, immediately taking the first’s shield, which was weak and did not last long. The others quickly retaliated. Their energies buzzed against Noman’s skillfully balanced shield while he waited for the attack to fade so he could join Xith. In a surge of power, together Xith and Noman destroyed the last two demons; then, it seemed, only the wraiths remained in opposition.
Ayrian, in spite of the only partially healed wound, was taking his toll on the wraiths; however, it was clear that without aid he would not last. The numbers would soon overwhelm him. Xith and Noman came quickly to his aid. The diminished numbers of wraiths could not withstand the combined attacks, and in defeat they were forced to retreat. Another force remained hidden and obscure in the shadows. Only one of their kind had fallen, but they were determined not to rejoin the dispute. They had been promised things that could not possibly be delivered now, and they no longer feared their master’s wrath. They had freedom if only they could escape, and escape is what they sought. They slipped into the stillness of the night. They did not howl at their newfound freedom, but they did gloat in it. The nameless beast readily followed; victory or defeat would have to wait.
The dark wraiths turned back on Ayrian for a brief moment to surmise the strength of the weakened soul. A captured soul to feed upon would be a prize to relish, yet without guidance they were hesitant, and it was this hesitation that defeated them. Cries of surprise and agony rang out as the light of early morning dawned. Ayrian pursued the routed creatures until he was sure they would not return, then slowly he drifted back to the platform. His body ached with fatigue and pain as he slumped down beside the battered shaman. The wise diviner touched restraining hands to the weary two as they sought to rise upon unsteady limbs.
“This is their fight,” he whispered, yet even as Noman spoke these words, the strange battle was coming to an end.
The dark figure fled, leaving behind a confused Amir.
“Am I then finished here?” asked Amir, turning to greet the diviner’s eyes with an expectant stare, “Is it time?”
“No, not yet, my old friend. This was only a stage in the momentous struggle in which we play out only a small part, yet that part is not yet complete,” replied Noman.
“What of Dalphan and of the boy?”
Noman held back a show of emotion from his weary face. Sweat mixed with soot trickled down his cheeks in thick lines that outlined the scowling and troubled countenance. “Come, we must go. The city is as weary as I, and as I have said, this is merely the beginning. We have other concerns before us now, chief among which are rest and recuperation.”
Noman looked up to the dark sky. “Hurry now. Sathar may return at any time.”
“Sathar is defeated,” said Amir.
“Trust me when I say the fight has only begun and that Sathar lives—because he does. Dalphan fought a projection of his dark brother’s will nothing more.
” Noman urged Xith and Ayrian to their feet, then turned back to Amir as he cast the orb to the ground. “Hurry now,” he told them. “There is little time and much to do.”
The four stepped into the spinning circle of light and disappeared.
Chapter Eight
The training grounds were thoroughly saturated, covered from end to end with what might have looked like thousands of tiny ants from high above. A viewing platform had been erected and raised high. It was from here that Valam surveyed the lines of riders, hunters, pikemen, swordsmen, bowmen, and shield bearers.
“How goes the training, Prince Valam?” asked Chancellor Van’te.
“It goes well. Within the week we shall be ready to depart. The troops will have more than sufficient training by then; besides the winter snows are gone and they grow more restless with each passing day.”
“Yes, I can see,” answered Chancellor Van’te as he looked down at the group occupied in a match of crossed swords.
“It is all in fun. I think I will go join them. It is time I showed Brother Seth how to really handle a weapon.”
“My lord, which is Ylsa’s formation?” asked the chancellor in a fluid, casual manner.
“Third column from the—” Valam stopped, catching himself in a blunder.
Van’te held back a laugh as the prince descended from the platform and crossed the field to join Evgej and Seth’s group.
“There you are, Chancellor Van’te,” said Keeper Martin as he appeared at the top of the balcony. “Father Jacob and I were just discussing a few things. We want your opinion also. I think we should go back to the planning room.”
Chancellor Van’te sent for horses and the two, with a small escort, returned to Quashan’. The keeper enjoyed the short stint in the saddle although he would have preferred to return in the same manner he had arrived. It would have been quicker and much more efficient.
During the brief ride, Van’te talked with the keeper only sporadically; mostly he pondered his own concerns. He was glad that Prince Valam had come home although he didn’t like the idea of his leaving so soon. He had been silently siding with Isador and King Andrew. It was time for the prince to marry and settle down. He had held high hopes that Valam would find a suitable wife when he returned, but now the plans of courtship and wedding would have to be put on hold.
The two walked quietly toward the great hall, which had been converted to a planning room. A man of great wisdom, the chancellor now sought to anticipate what Father Jacob and Keeper Martin wished to discuss. He plotted his options and his responses accordingly. He noted how strangely quiet the palace was for mid-day. It was not the center of the activities in South Province any more. Most of the pages and guards had been dispatched to the camp to keep everything in order there. The chancellor sighed. The majority of those that remained in the palace were servants that tended to cleaning and upkeep. He rather missed the bustling days. The camp was too disorderly for him. In the palace, he could maintain control and do so in an orderly fashion.
The chancellor could see from the dark circles under Keeper Martin’s eyes that he had not slept in a very long time; along with the fatigue, a rigid mask of worry had also set in. When they reached the hall, Van’te saw that Father Jacob did not look much better; if it were possible, he looked worse.
“Why the glum moods? Is it truly that bad here?” joked Van’te.
“No, chancellor, your hospitality has been exquisite. We are having a crisis. Oh, how do I start? Let me just say this bluntly. The situation we are dealing with is very grave. We thought it best we told you here in private,” began Father Jacob, pausing to take a sip from a glass of water.
“Go on,” said Chancellor Van’te, eager to hear what Jacob had to say.
“Last night Keeper Martin received a dream message from the Council of Keepers, the second. It was pretty unclear in parts but quite vivid in others. Many things are changing. They mentioned great shifts in power.”
“Shifts in power?” Chancellor Van’te couldn’t quite follow what Jacob was saying.
“From the Father and the Mother. I have felt it from the Father, and the priestesses of the Mother sent word to the council that the Mother was distressed.”
Jacob took another sip from his glass; the liquid trickling down his throat soothed its soreness.
“What do you mean distressed?” interrupted Van’te again, his face quite livid with anger, “Why wasn’t I told sooner?”
“There is more. Please be patient. I have not told Prince Valam yet either.”
“So why did Keeper Martin only come for me?”
“Chancellor, please, I know you are angry. That is understandable, but we had to be sure that what we told you was correct. As you can see, I haven’t slept for many days.
“Two nights ago I felt the Father cry out. I have never felt such great emotions. They were quite clear, as if something were tearing him apart; then they changed suddenly and calmed. Something terrible has come to pass. The portent has come. I can feel it.
“The darkness has returned to Kir.”
Van’te gasped as Jacob uttered the forbidden word, and at the same time it flooded his thoughts with memories. For a moment the implications of Jacob’s words were lost as he focused solely on the word and not what Jacob had just finished telling him; then it clicked and he understood. “It is no more?”
“So it seems. We may be too late in journeying to the Eastern Reaches, but we must try.”
“How soon must we leave?”
“As soon as possible.”
“That will take a great deal of work, yet I think Prince Valam and I can get everything together,” spoke Van’te, adding, “now if you’ll excuse me I need to start.”
“Wait! Chancellor Van’te, there is something else,” yelled Keeper Martin.
“What is it?” responded Van’te impatiently.
“Well, it is a delicate matter,” spoke Father Jacob, motioning for the chancellor to step back into the room and close the door.
“Yes?” said Van’te, his eyes flashing; the chancellor was naturally an impatient person. Time was very important to him. He couldn’t stand to waste even a moment of its preciousness.
“It is Prince Valam,” replied Martin.
Chancellor Van’te drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for the keeper to hurry up and tell him what he was going to say.
“We do not feel it is the proper time for him to leave the kingdom. We feel he should stay here.”
“We? I can feel something,” added Jacob.
Van’te understood now why Keeper Martin had been slow to speak his mind and why they had brought him here alone. He felt foolish for his flippant attitude.
“I am sorry; I am often impetuous. It is just that I am overzealous,” said Van’te.
“We know how you are. There is nothing wrong with that.”
“You and your brother are much alike,” added Jacob with a chuckle as he pictured Yi in this situation.
“I will talk to Prince Valam,” said Van’te, “yet you both need to promise me something.”
“Certainly, if there is any way we can help.”
“Yes, actually there is. You two go and get some sleep. I’ll need you at your fullest over these next days.”
Jacob offered no arguments, yet Martin stared, dreary eyes and all, at the chancellor as the two departed. Chancellor Van’te sent for runners and his page. He had many things to prepare before this day was out. He sent the first runner to find Prince Valam; and afterwards, he dispatched several others to spread the news throughout the camp and to bring word to the ship captains.
Van’te didn’t have much time to consider how he wanted to direct the conversation with Prince Valam before the page returned, panting heavily from the run. Van’te dismissed him in quick order with one last errand for the day, just as the prince and several others arrived. Valam could see from the disorder in the room and the wild look in Van’te’s eyes that something drastic was
amiss. He signaled for the guards to close the door behind him.
“We came as soon as we could. The page sounded so urgent. What is it?” asked Valam.
Chancellor Van’te quickly explained, touching only lightly on what had been said, and moved on to talk about stepping up the preparations for departure.
“Will you have enough time to get everything in order?”
Captain Vadan Evgej eyed the chancellor. “We will most certainly try!” he said.
Valam added, “We will do more than try; we will do it!” and then they each scrambled off.
Complete In the Service of Dragons Page 8
