Shadow Of The Mountain

by D. A. Stone

  Tenlon glanced down at the slender lines of Amoria pouring into the flatlands. They no longer appeared to go on forever. How could anyone stand against such a force? It was like a fire set against an ocean. He felt a wave of despair overcome him, knowing the truth of it as soon as he saw what they approached.

  What faced them now was not a battle or a war, but annihilation.

  “Don’t look so glum, young mage,” a youthful soldier laughed in passing, sharpening his sword. His cloak was green and fresh, his pace quick. “They will fall in their thousands!”

  All Tenlon could reply was a bumbling nod of agreement. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dark sea encompassing his vision.

  Turning his gaze to the sky, he searched for any signs of the dragon fleet. A sighting—a mere glimpse—and he’d feel all the better for it. The creatures were beauty, might, a tower of strength to rest against. Just seeing them in flight could breathe courage into the most fearful, but the rolling clouds were heavy this day and there was no sign of his beloved dragons or the favored Draxakis.

  “They are up there,” Graille assured him, staring up. “Somewhere, far above us.”

  “I know.”

  A great cheer suddenly swept through the Amorian ranks as all eyes looked behind and to the north. Tenlon‘s heart lifted, just as he knew it would.

  Tiny specks off in the horizon grew in size as their flight brought them near the battle lines. His fear began to ebb as he laid eyes on the Amorian dragon fleet. The sight always stole his breath, every time. He loved them, as much as one could love something they’d never seen up close or touched. They were his ultimate goal, his ambition. Working with the fleet was his dream.

  Their approach was fast, almost wildly so. His pulse quickened as they ate up the sky in seconds, their shadows passing over Tenlon and the rest so quietly it took some by surprise. Draxakis was in the lead, larger than the others, a bronze spear that hurtled through the air like a streak of burnished lightning. He was followed by the rest, a blur of speed and dazzling scales of gold, silver, and emerald.

  Tenlon grew anxious, counting only seven in formation. There should have been twelve.

  “Where are the rest?” Graille asked, his voice tense.

  “I heard they took flight several days ago and never returned,” Tenlon told him, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I’d hoped the news was only talk, but it appears to be true. I imagine the old mages are still trying to figure out what happened.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Graille, if only to reassure himself. “Draxakis is worth a hundred dragons.”

  At the mention of his name, Tenlon tried to focus on the lead dragon, but already they had climbed into the sky, disappearing amidst the clouds.

  It was true; the legendary bronze was a sight to behold. Draxakis had been the nation’s champion since the first bricks of Corda were laid. Even the Amorian battle standard they marched beneath paid homage the magnificent creature. His skills in aerial combat were unparalleled and he was held by many scholars to be a reincarnated dragon god, but Tenlon always believed that wasn’t the case. He was a dragon—a great dragon, to be sure—but still, only a dragon. Among warriors there will be greatness, and among the great there will be legends. Their bronze was like that: legendary. Young, fast, fearless, and brave. A legendary warrior of the sky.

  It was a foul note that Draxakis had never sired offspring with a female. It was a mystery that the old mages were still trying to unravel. He had a life-mate within the fleet: the fierce-tempered Vyra, silver and slender, graceful and deadly. Yet in all their years together she had never conceived, and the dragon lineage of Draxakis seemed to have halted with its finest son.

  The Amorian fleet had begun to fragment since Tenlon was a child, with more and more dragons leaving the land and never returning. It was not only occurring in Amoria, but in all of Endura. Where there once were wild dragons that soared the sky, now there was mostly emptiness.

  It was a problem Tenlon wanted to study and possibly help solve. If Draxakis could breed, then their fleet would truly be unstoppable, and no one would have to march to any more battles or death. There would be peace.

  After assisting with this first conflict his graduation would be cemented from the Iralic Mage Academy, and he hoped to travel to the Amorian city of Odenna and study dragons under the old mages.

  Should he survive, that is.

  Ahead of him on the outer ring of the flatlands, the Amorian phalanxes were forming. Tenlon stood at the foot of the hill with nearly two hundred of the other mage apprentices.

  An older mage named Paktorian approached and the youths clamored around him. His robes were the black of a Lead Mage, which matched the outlandishly absurd black-dyed hair and carefully manicured mustache he sported. A man of great skill and knowledge, Paktorian struggled to maintain his fading youth, though he was clearly closing in on the age of sixty.

  “I will choose twenty of you to come with me. The rest will wait at the foot of the hills for the battle to begin,” he ordered.

  Paktorian called out the names from a scroll and Tenlon was relieved that he was not chosen, and nor was Graille.

  “The rest of you must remain here. Do not move from the hill unless ordered by a superior!” His odd mustache twitched with each syllable.

  The old mage left with the chosen twenty trailing behind him.

  “I wish we were back at the academy,” Tenlon whispered, overwhelmed by thoughts of the coming clash.

  “The first battle is always unsettling,” Graille spoke. “Just be glad you’re not an infantry soldier. At sixteen, they are required to draw blood in battle. They will absorb the first wave.”

  “It is frightening,” said Tenlon, gazing off into the black ocean that was set to destroy them.

  “Such is the way of our people.”

  It was early afternoon and the day was still young. Tenlon shivered.

  Death floated nearby, silent, invisible. One could almost feel it on the wind, waiting. It was a sickening realization, but there was nothing to be done about it.

  ***

  It wasn’t until midday that the battle for the Goridai Flats began. Tenlon and Graille, along with the remaining mage apprentices, were still standing restlessly in their heavy robes at the rim of the flats. The sloping hill gave them the best view of the coming battle they could get without actually being in the conflict.

  The Amorian phalanxes had been set for some time and a cool breeze swept across the flatlands. The tall spears of Amoria shimmered gold in the sunlight and the commanders rode on horseback from phalanx to phalanx, speaking to the men.

  Tenlon could only imagine the fear of the young soldiers on the front lines. They had trained most of their lives to receive the green cloaks they now wore. It was most likely that in a few hours many would be wrapped in those cloaks and carried home. He muttered a quiet prayer of strength and courage, for them and even for himself.

  Graille pointed towards a commander on horseback addressing the frontlines.

  “King Healianos,” he said, cracking several of the knuckles in his hand. “Quite a large man. My brother tells me he is fierce in battle.” Tenlon strained to see the great king.

  “I still can’t…” he began, but his words trailed off.

  Calling the Amorian king large was an understatement. Although this was his first time laying eyes on the ruler, he’d heard many stories of his dominating appearance.

  The man was a mountain.

  His cloak was the green of the army, crisscrossed with golden thread at the shoulders to meet below his neck, twirling down his back. His high plumed helm and breastplate were gold plated, as were his matching forearm greaves and small buckler. His dark beard was barely visible from the distance and a long sword hung at his side.

  He was power and his presence radiated authority, commanded respect. A born king, of that no one could argue.

  Yet it was not only the king that Tenlon stared at in wonde
r, but the great warhorse he rode. Tenlon gazed at the mount.

  “Our king rides a fine beast,” he said with wonder. “I’ve seen many horses, but that is a magnificent animal.”

  And truly it was. The black bay stallion seemed as if it possessed the perfect blend of explosive power and flawless grace. A lover of all animals, but mainly dragons and horses, Tenlon told Graille he wished he could get a closer glimpse of the king’s stallion. A smile crossed his friend’s face.

  “I bet you could win even more races mounted on that one. His name is Darkfire. He is the greatest of the king’s warhorses and is currently the only mount Healianos takes into battle. I have heard a rumor that Darkfire once kicked a stable boy to death, but I’m not sure if the tale has any truth. Still,” Graille chuckled. “I wouldn’t walk too closely behind him, if you ever get the chance. Someone as small as you might get their chest caved in.”

  Darkfire, Tenlon thought.

  “It’s my size that has helped me win so many races,” he pointed out. “And anyone could win on a horse like that. Have you ever seen the king up close?”

  “This is the closest I’ve been to him. But my brother met him once, several years ago. He still talks about it.”

  Graille was the same year as he and was planning to continue his studies with the mages in Iralic after the battle, intending to become full Magi: a warring mage. His older brother had served as a foot soldier for four years in the Amorian phalanxes before he was recruited for the cavalry last winter. Tenlon had become friends with Graille during their more youthful days in Iralic. He was smart and kind, and always well informed on the happenings of Amorian life.

  “I believe the battle is beginning,” he said.

  Almost as soon as Graille spoke, the entire Goridai Flats erupted in a cacophony of noise as the forces of Amoria screamed for battle. The air was alive with energy, like the moments heralding a lightning storm. The hairs at the back of his neck rose in response to the awesome sound of it all.

  Tenlon could feel the ground beneath his feet tremble as the two armies began their marches. The fear he experienced earlier in the morning had returned and he felt the sudden need to empty his bowels; such was his dread at what was to come. He once more said a silent prayer for the young foot soldiers in the front lines.

  The group of mage apprentices looked to the sky as the Amorian dragon fleet soared in formation towards the forces of the Volrathi. Tenlon’s heart lifted as he saw Draxakis leading the six other dragons towards the largest army ever assembled. He stared in fascination at the bronze dragon, pride of Amoria, his scales dancing in the afternoon sun.

  Against the bright blue sky, the image of the dragon fleet flying overhead was one that Tenlon would not soon forget.

  As he was admiring the fleet, young mages across the hillside began murmuring to each other in low tones. Tenlon looked around, wondering what all the commotion was about. He asked Graille, who just continued to stare into the distant forces of the Volrathi.

  “It cannot be,” his friend muttered softly.

  Tenlon followed his gaze toward the horizon and his eyes swept across the enemy ranks, spanning wide and terrifying. Cupping his hand, he squinted toward the distant army of the Volrathi but could barely discern what was occurring.

  Several tiny specks began to float up from the enemy forces, then several more. It was the Volrathi dragon fleet, and they continued taking flight. Even from this distance Tenlon could tell that Amoria was not only severely outnumbered on the ground, but also in the sky.

  “I had not known the Volrathi had a fleet of such size,” Graille said, the fear of his voice open.

  “No one knew,” Tenlon told him. “Draxakis and the rest are greatly outnumbered. I counted over thirty, but we are some distance away, so I would guess their numbers are even larger than that.”

  “What happens now?”

  Tenlon’s gut felt as if it had been clubbed. His knees grew unsteady and he had to sit.

  “We are not prepared for this battle,” he whispered.

  Chapter 2

  It was the longest and saddest day of Tenlon’s life. He watched Draxakis and the other dragons climb higher into the heavens, pitted against a vastly superior fleet. They soared upward until becoming only tiny, indistinguishable specks against a clouded blue canvas. The Volrathi dragons followed their enemy, and the battle for control of the sky began high above the watching eyes of man.

  The two armies met on the distant flatland and Tenlon swore he could feel the collision. The initial clash of the battle was sheer horror to the young apprentice. Odd sounds carried to them on the wind: clashing of steel, solitary screams, and sometimes even worse…spans of silence.

  His inexperienced eyes scanned the land for any sign that Amoria was gaining the advantage, but all he saw was carnage. The forces meeting at the front blended together, with the Amorian lines bending backwards. The black tide of the Volrathi punched deep holes into their forces like frightful waves that reached too far to shore. His nation fought to hold rank, struggling to maintain a crumbling structure of defense.

  He looked up into the sky towards his adored dragons, but from below they only looked like angry hornets, near-invisible flecks that spun and darted amidst the clouds. It was a foul scene no matter where his gaze fell.

  He grew dizzy and had to lie on the hill, trying his best not to watch.

  Somewhere along the lines he heard the mages begin their battle, for the sky above the flatlands exploded with burst of light and energy. Waves of heat tore the air and crackling forks of red lightning lashed out like whip strikes, burning both Amorian and Volrathi lines alike. For over an hour tremors racked the land and flashes of fire arced into the sky, bright enough to blind and loud enough to deafen. It sounded as if the very Veil itself were splitting open above them, spewing forth whatever nightmarish terrors it’d kept hidden across eternity.

  Storm-dark clouds soon formed over the battle, slowly at first but then gaining speed, spinning and growing to life. It was a grotesque sight, alive and vile with sharp flares of light and monstrous bellows of rolling thunder, a beast of black smoke the size of a floating city. Spells of unspeakable horror were cast and Tenlon was mesmerized by the display of power on both sides. Unwritten rules of the Magi were cast aside and the laws of man and magic were broken. Death and darkness were born here like never before.

  As time crawled on, the black cloud grew and daytime was snuffed out on the flats. Tenlon could just make out sunlight in the distance behind him, but all of Amoria now fought in the night. The sight was otherworldly.

  And just when Tenlon felt that all hope was lost, when he thought things could not get any worse, dragons began to break through the dark cloud and fall from the sky.

  There were many and he tried to read their scales as they dropped, but it was a challenge in the gloom of the unnatural storm. He recognized Salara first, the young gold. The scales around his missing wing were dreadfully burnt and he spun lifelessly to the ground, smashing into a nearby hillside with a thunderous crash.

  Gora he saw next, emerald green and nearly as old as Draxakis. The softer scales of her underbelly were torn open and much of her insides hung out, still connected. She fell like a stone and crashed into the crowded Amorian lines.

  There must have been others he missed, for the beasts were dropping faster now, two and three at a time. They fell limp and lifeless, charred or still burning, with delicate wings twisted and outstretched by the fall to crash into both Amorian and Volrathi lines below.

  Tenlon watched with dread as Vyra finally fell, life-mate to Draxakis. The silver scales of her sides were covered with heinous claw wounds and her neck was burnt all the way to the nose. The scales of her head were scorched almost completely off, leaving behind a thin spine, blackened skull, and sharp horns. It was then Tenlon knew Draxakis was alone.

  After only a few hours, the Amorians were in disarray. Retreat was not an option for Healianos, Draxakis, or any of the gr
een-clad soldiers fighting underneath the banner of Amoria. The Volrathi were set to sweep across the realm and cleanse the land of all who opposed them. And if retreat was not an option, then death was the alternative.

  When Draxakis broke through the black clouds in a slow and lifeless spin, his bronze scales catching a dismal sliver of sunlight, Tenlon’s world ceased to be.

  ***

  “There was a time when dragons called this land home,” the old man told him. “Long before they began to disappear. Back then the world was not divided by invisible lines on a map, great mountain chains, or raging rivers. It was not kings who made the kingdoms, but beasts. They could be found all over the realm, from the Western Isles to the frozen north, all of them different sizes, shape and temperament. No different than the rest of the world, the Danaki had their dragons as well. To be more precise, they had a dragon.

  “They called her Kra-and, which translates loosely to man hunter in the Danakian tongue. She was a different kind of dragon, flightless and without wings. With six legs and scales the color of sand, Kra-and could dive deep beneath the desert and travel at great speeds. Few who saw her lived to tell the tale. Often she could be seen far across the dunes through the shimmering waves of heat, stirring up vast clouds of sand.

  “As man’s population increased, so too did Kra-and’s boldness. Entire settlements of tents and Danaki travelers would disappear, their belongings ripped and scattered across the sand. One day the Shuri gathered a Danaki force, mounting a dangerous expedition to track Kra-and through the desert and see her destroyed. For two years they searched, and the dragon was never found, but they found something else. The expedition found Kra-and’s nest, and within that nest, her eggs. Not believing their luck, the desert men swiftly destroyed all within the cavern, save but one. A dragon’s egg could be of tremendous value to their mystics, so one was taken back to the city in the sand.